Warrior Princess
by katia1
Summary: NOW COMPLETE. Syd and Nigel are spirited back to Roman times to retrieve a relic so powerful it could change the course of history. They will have to overcome gladiators, orgies, togas, nasty slavetraders and pose as husband and wife. Will they make it?
1. evil student

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sydney and Nigel. I just love playing with them! Please do not reproduce any of this story without my permission.**

**Dedication: This is for all the nice people who read and reviewed my last two stories.**

_Note: this is my first attempt at fantasy and time travel, so let's see how it goes! It will contain my usual dose of Syd/Nigel romance and preposterous plot lines, and I'll probably be a bit mean to Nigel (this is never my fault, it's all done by my naughty demon plot bunny – honest). As before, some of the historical references are real, but I've changed some place names and twisted things a bit!_

**Warrior Princess**

**By Katy **

Was there really ever such as thing as a 'quiet little teaching job'?

After several years experience, Nigel Bailey still dreaded the prospect of a new group of hungry-eyed students. Without exception, they would quickly identify that he was not are yet armed with the intimidating weapons of a PhD and a lectureship. Even at 9.15 a.m., when at least half were likely to be hung-over, if one or two arrogant smart-asses were out to get him, the rest would sullenly and silently fall in line behind them. Then he would have an uphill battle on his hands for the rest of the term.

Not that Nigel had any fear that they could outsmart him. A ringleader might have studied _one_ book, cover to cover, and then recite obscure facts in an attempt to trip him up. They rarely succeeded. This morning, however, as he conducted his first 'Introduction to Ancient Europe' discussion group of the session, Nigel found himself locked in particularly unpleasant form of mental combat. A student, new to the course and the university, Veronica Balwinchie, seemed to be 'out to get him' both intellectually and, far more frighteningly, personally.

She was a tall, raven-haired woman, with a world-weary look that made her seem much older than the rest of her teenage classmates. She'd fixed a pair of piercing green eyes on Nigel as soon as she had entered the room, sweeping in with a confidence more suited to an established scholar than a freshman. Nigel had instantly noted her down as a possible 'difficulty'.

Veronica had been attentive and quiet, however, until about halfway through the session. At this point, having finished his opening remarks on the course, Nigel threw in a comment about the excitement of working with Professor Fox, and how lucky they all were. It was then that Veronica first spoke:

'So, I hear that you often accompany, Professor Fox on her infamous relic hunts, Mr Bailey?'

'Do call me Nigel, please. And, yes, I've been on many. We've made some amazing discoveries. I can go into more detail at the end of the session, if you like?'

'That'll be stimulating, I'm sure. I hear the things you've done in the name of historical research are quite astounding. Will you tell us about that Professor Fox rescued you from those Amazonian warriors-ladies?' As Nigel blushed pinker and pinker, Veronica relayed a list of his most embarrassing and unfortunate relic hunting moments, ending with 'what about the occasion you dressed up as a harem dancer?'

By this time, all of the female members of the class were in uncontained hysterics. The too-cool-to-giggle blokes, who skulked in the back row, were smirking to each other and muttering about what kind of loser would be 'hauled about and rescued by a chick.'

Nigel, now the colour of the beetroot, smiled through gritted teeth and attempted to lure his audience back towards the joys of Ancient Europe with the promise of accounts of Sydney's finer relic hunting moments at the end of the session. To his surprise, the obnoxious Veronica, adhered to this request by firing at him an unexpected question about the government of the Roman colonies in what was now Southern France.

'Actually,' replied Nigel, relieved but suspicious, 'we know relatively little about it. You'll find that Roman chroniclers rarely mentioned even the names of the governors of these provinces, unless they were involved in suppressing a major tribal rebellion. Of course, we can conjecture a great deal about the role of the consuls from what we know about Rome and, although citizens may have had votes, it is doubtful that governments were very democratic… '

'No, they weren't,' interjected Veronica. 'I know for a fact that the governor of the city and province of Nevium around 81 AD was called Agroitus Poculus and he had a ravenous sexual appetite.' Veronica licked her lips provocatively. 'He also liked to indulge such debauchery in others. He used to offer sexual favours from members of his household in exchange for support in the provincial Forum.' She smiled sweetly at Nigel, who was becoming increasingly apprehensive of where this nugget of information was leading, and asked in a breathy voice: 'Would you like to know what kinds of services they offered?'

'Well, err, I'm sure that would be very…um, interesting… did you read about that in a recent journal?' Nigel was flustered, but nobody was now listening to him. The girls had collapsed back into fits of giggles. The lads in the back row clamoured for details and made lewd comments about how they hoped that Professor Fox would be acting this important historical information out in the lectures.

In the end, Nigel wound up the session early, already dreading the prospect of next weeks class. As the students sniggered and scattered, he wondered where on earth Veronica had read about the consul and his sexual favours. He kept up-to-date with all the latest publications, and it was very rare that anything passed him by. He certainly would have remembered an article about that!

He was just gathering his notes, and wondering which direction would be best to depart in so not to encounter too many tittering students, when there was a sharp knock on the door and raven-haired Veronica strode elegantly back in.

'Mr Bailey? I mean, Nigel?'

'Hello, yes, Veronica,' said Nigel jerkily, giving her a begrudging smile. Inside, he was seething. This girl had just made him look like an absolute fool, but he didn't quite know how, or whether, to protest. Besides, he found himself oddly transfixed by her eyes. Alone with her, the icy green glare was even more compelling.

'Nigel, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. It was unfair.'

Nigel gaped a moment. He hadn't expected an apology, and now he didn't know quite how to accept it. 'Oh, it's fine.' No it wasn't. 'I'm used to it!' Why on earth had he said that? Nigel was very conscious that he couldn't stop gawping at her bewitching eyes. He blinked hard, shook his head, and brushed his fingers through his hair in an attempt to pull himself together. Her gaze didn't shift.

'Where did you read about the Consul of Nevium and the, err, funny goings on?' This, slightly embarrassing as it was, was a more comfortable subject than relic hunting just now.

'I have a very interesting source of information that I would like to share with you and Professor Fox.'

'That's fascinating. You're a transfer student, aren't you? Did you work with one the professors at your previous university?'

Veronica gave a glacial smile. Without looking away, she pulled a silver chain out from between her cleavage, on the end of which was mounted a chunky ruby-red stone. Nigel's attention was released from Veronica's stare as he found himself even more absorbed by this new object of interest.

It was as if the whole world had stopped. Nigel did not hear the voices of passers-by in the corridor, the planes overhead, or the cars in the yard outside. There was nothing beyond him, Veronica and the stone. He slowly reached out his hand towards it.

'Egyptian,' murmured Nigel. 'It dates from at least 1400 BC…'

His fingers, as if drawn by a magnet, landed lightly on their mark between Veronica's breasts. Next, the room spun and melted into a thousand colours as what felt like a bolt of molten lightning struck through his body.

Veronica tucked the necklace safely back down the front of her blouse, and left an empty room alone.

………………………..

A few minutes earlier, Sydney had been reading a very interesting volume on the use of Voodoo to control male victims during Amazonian mating rituals, when she was interrupted by an unannounced visitor.

Sharp suited and wearing a slick pair of shades, Derek Lloyd was through the door and into the office before Karen had a chance to intercept.

'Professor Fox, we meet again,' said Derek, flashing his cheesiest grin.

'Derek Lloyd,' stated Sydney with a grimace, 'you never did learn how to knock, did you?'

'And I'm very pleased to see you too, Sydney.' Derek was not easily deterred.

Sydney had risen from her desk and perched herself around the front, arms folded. 'Whatever it is, Derek, I'm not doing it. Its the start of term, I'm up to my ears in lectures and classes, and next weekend I'm off to Outer Mongolia to search for the lost truncheon of Genghis Khan. There just isn't room for you in my schedule, right now.'

'Believe it or not, Sydney,' said Derek animatedly, '_I_ am here to help _you_.'

Sydney raised her eyebrows. 'I do find that hard to believe. Could you elaborate?'

Derek pulled a photograph from the inside of his jacket. 'Do you recognise this woman?'

Sydney surveyed the image of a strikingly handsome young woman with long dark hair. 'Yes, that's Veronica Balwinchie. She's a transfer student. I haven't had much to do with her yet, although she asked a particularly perceptive question in the first lecture. It's strange that I should remember her for just that, though…' There was something about the young woman's face that Sydney found unsettling.

Derek tucked the picture away again. 'Thank you Professor Fox. Are you aware that this is the sixth university that Miss Balwinchie has enrolled at in three years?'

Sydney frowned. 'She switched from a West Coast university, specifically to study my course. Her credentials were excellent.'

'They always are.' Derek chuckled humourlessly. 'Let me get to the point. Senior members of the historical faculty have disappeared from each of these six universities. All of them were renowned for their knowledge of relics in the ancient world, although none of them had your prowess in finding them.'

Sydney nodded in recognition. She'd heard of some mysterious disappearances among academic circles lately. None had been renowned relic hunters. They were more the bookworm types.

'The only thing that my people can find to link their disappearances is the presence of Veronica Balwinchie. There's absolutely nothing to pin a crime on her at the moment, but I warn you, Professor, she may be dangerous.'

Alarm shimmered across Sydney's face. 'Nigel is teaching her 'Introduction to Ancient Europe' class right now.'

Derek shook his head. 'I'm afraid he's toast, then,' he said deadpan, then slapped Sydney on the arm with a joyful chortle. 'Don't worry, Sydney, even Nigel can't get abducted in front of a classroom of students!'

Sydney responded with a thin smile. 'I think I'll go and check on him, anyway,' she decided. 'Maybe I'll catch a word with this Veronica and see if I can find out anything about what happened at the last university.'

'That would be helpful,' replied Derek. 'Hey, don't tell Nige I'm here. I want it to be a nice little surprise!'

'I'm sure he'll be thrilled,' said Sydney sarcastically. She departed the office, leaving Derek carelessly thumbing a pile of papers that she'd rather he didn't.

………………..

When Sydney reached room 207, where Nigel had been teaching, it was completely empty apart from a pile of notes left on a table at the front. Going over to peruse them, she recognised that they were in Nigel's neat handwriting, well-organised and colour-coded as ever. Her anxiety returned: Nigel would never leave his papers lying about unless he had left unexpectedly.

This thought was interrupted by the sensation that she was being watched. Looking up startled, Sydney saw the tall, raven-haired form of Veronica Balwinchie.

She opened her mouth to inquire what had become of Nigel, but somehow the words got lost. Instead, she was riveted by the piercing emerald of the girl's eyes.

'Nigel Bailey went to look for you,' said Veronica, pre-empting Sydney's inquiry. 'I showed him something and he got very excited. He said you must see it immediately.'

Sydney shook her head rapidly, trying to force away the hazy stupor that was engulfing her. 'What did you show him?' she asked. Her voice sounded lethargic.

'This.' Veronica took several steps closer across the room and unbuttoned the top of her shirt, revealing the chain and the stone. Sydney found her hand involuntarily drawn towards the beautiful relic, but pulled it back, inner strength checking her. Still, she was transfixed.

'14th or 15th century BC,' she murmured, 'Probably Egyptian…'

'Please,' entreated Veronica, lifting the stone on its chain from her breast and offering it in Sydney's direction. 'You must feel it. It's so smooth, so powerful.'

Sydney hesitated. Something wasn't right, and she knew it. Still, a niggling voice in her head was telling her there could be no harm in touching it, just the once. She watched her hand, as if it was someone else's, reach forward and touch the stone. Next came the swirling bright colours and lightning.

Once again, Veronica left the empty room alone.


	2. back in time?

**Disclaimers: as before.**

The next thing Sydney knew was darkness and utter disorientation. What she dead? Could she move? Neither of these things was clear.

As her senses settled, Sydney found she was collapsed backwards onto some sort of damp, bumpy ground. She tried to shift her limbs, but they felt heavy and nothing would respond.

Her bewilderment grew as she felt gentle arms slipped under hers, and pull her head and upper body off the floor into a warm, comfortable lap.

A tentative hand lightly stroked her hair. 'Its okay, Syd. It'll pass, you'll feel better soon.'

'Nigel?'

'Yes. It's me. It's all right.' She'd rarely known anything more comforting than his soft voice at that moment.

'Where am I?' Sydney tried to raise herself, but she still felt dizzy.

'Sssshhh, just try and relax.' Becoming more aware, Sydney sensed an undertone of fear in Nigel's voice. He was trying to console her, but he was holding her increasingly tightly.

'Where are we, Nigel?' Her inquiry was more urgent this time.

'I'm not sure,' admitted Nigel, his voice still hushed. 'I'd barely gathered myself when you suddenly appeared. I lay there on the floor for what seemed like an eternity. We're in some sort of round, stone chamber. Light is coming in from a narrow opening over there.' He pointed to a small gap in the stonework a few metres off. It led to a small passage, through which seeped light. 'I was considering venturing out,' continued Nigel, 'when I heard voices… and found this note.'

'What note?' Sydney felt much better already, and extracted herself from Nigel's arms. He withdrew them quickly, wondering if he'd overstepped the mark. He handed her the bit of paper and she shuffled over towards the light so she could read.

_Professor Fox. It is imperative that you and your assistant find me the Omniscient Eye of Hatshepsut. No, it is not a legend, it is a fine, azure stone possessed of great power. The last expert I sent on this mission found out the relic was taken to Nevium in 82 AD, by the Consul, Agroitus Poculus,_ _who hid it somewhere in the city. He then met an untimely end. If you do not do the same, and wish to return to the present, you must meet the back here, and at the bottom of the Tour Magne, in exactly 7 days. Veronica._

'Veronica!' gasped Syd. She quickly communicated to Nigel about Derek Lloyd's visit and warning. 'Do you think she has she somehow transported us to the modern-day city of Nevium to find this relic?'

'I don't know, Syd. There are no surviving records of who the consul was in this year, yet she claims it was someone called Agroitus Poculus.' Nigel paused and took a deep breath. 'And…those voices I heard, they were speaking Latin.'

'Latin? But nobody has spoken Latin for centuries, apart from in religious services.'

'They weren't reciting mass, that's for sure.' Syd could tell Nigel was agitated and, much more than usual, so was she. Where on earth were they? Or, more to the point, _when _on earth were they?

'I think we'd better look outside,' said Sydney decisively. On hands and knees, she began to crawl through the tunnel that led out of the stone chamber. Nigel followed.

The site which greeted her when she rose at the other end was breathtaking. They were on the top of the hill overlooking what would be, by modern standards, a small town. However, this was no town of modern standards: it was a perfectly constructed Roman city. They had emerged from the bottom of a stone tower, about thirty metres or so high, which was one of many that were placed at intervals along a wall which encircled the whole urban area. Within it, could be identified legions of neatly laid out streets, lined with tiled roofed buildings. Amongst them were interspersed several high standing colonnaded temples and an impressively massive, circular amphitheatre. Cascading down the hill in front of them, were spectacular waterfalls and fountains, which flowed into lakes in a formal garden below.

Sydney gazed in wonderment as she felt Nigel's hand grasp hers from behind: 'Sydney, it's real!' Nigel was now breathing so hard that she thought he might hyperventilate. She pulled away her hand and turned to face him, no words yet forthcoming. 'Somehow, she's sent us back in time,' he gasped. 'This is exactly how Nevium would have looked in the first century AD. The city wall, the gardens, the temples, the amphitheatre, it is exactly as the remains indicate. And this,' here he indicated the tower behind them. 'This still stands in the 21st Century…the Tour Magne… wasn't it the subject of the Nostradamus prophecy?'

Sydney ceased hearing the details of his banter as she tried to get her head around the situation. 'She's sent us back in time?' Sydney articulated the words slowly, but her mind was racing. Even with her vast experience, she'd never been landed in a situation like this.

Her quandary was broken by her ever-sharp instincts. 'Quick, I hear voices. We'd better hide.'

They dashed around the side of the tower and peered out as two men, wearing the distinctive breastplates and helmets of Roman soldiers, approached up the hill. They were speaking Latin alright, but Sydney found it hard to make out the words. 'I think it must be some form of Gallic dialect,' whispered Nigel. 'But then again, we don't really know how any of it sounded, do we? Apart from reciting a few verbs in prep, my many years of Latin training were restricted to reading and writing.'

'Can you make it out?' inquired Sydney.

'I think so. But do we really have to talk to anybody? Surely plan A is to get the relic as quietly as possible and hideout until we can go, well, back to the future.'

'Sshhhhhh!' The soldiers had reached the tower, and were climbing the steps which led to the first-floor level. Sydney sidled further around the wall, pushing Nigel ahead of her, until they were further out of sight.

'If they are going on watch,' Sydney whispered, 'two other men who have been up the top will be coming out in a minute. It will be safe to go after that.'

'Yes, but where are we going?' Nigel desperately hoped that Sydney had a good, safe plan.

'The only lead we have is the name of the consul who brought the relic here. You're going to have to try to speak to him.'

'Me? Why not you? There's nothing wrong with your Latin.'

'No. But yours is better and, officially anyway, this is a highly patriarchal society. I'll pretend to be your wife or something. First, though, we need to find something to wear. I can't walk around a Roman town in my best university trouser suit. We need to get to get toga'd up!'

…………………..

Once the soldiers ending their shift had departed, Sydney and Nigel began to make their way down through the gardens and fountains towards the town. Fortunately, there were plenty of trees and statues to hide behind, and they managed to stay out of sight. Leaving Nigel hiding in the bushes, Sydney nimbly edged her way along the back of several villas, until she found an open window into to an empty room with some drying laundry. She appropriated a long, glamorous blue robe with a gold-thread belt for herself and a white toga for Nigel, and returned to his hiding place.

'There, put that on.' Nigel had been expecting such a garment, but he still looked horrified. 'You'll look great.' said Sydney encouragingly. 'You _know_ I think you have nice legs.'

'Thanks,' said Nigel unenthusiastically, snatched the toga, and ducked out of sight into the foliage. Sydney dressed herself in the sleeveless blue dress. Once drawn in around the waist, it fitted her surprisingly flatteringly. She felt both glamorous and able to move freely.

After a few minutes, Nigel emerged slowly from the leaves with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, as if he was naked. Eyeing Sydney up and down, he complimented her: 'You look lovely,' he said ruefully. 'I feel like an idiot.'

'You look fine,' affirmed Sydney. He really didn't look so bad. The toga seemed slightly too long, reaching to just below his knees, and was fastened with a leather belt. He _did_ have quite nice legs, mused Sydney, even if they were a little, well, short. The 'Roman' look wasn't helped by the matter that he still had his modern leather shoes and socks on, but seeing as she had provided no alternative, Sydney did not suggest he took them off. They would have to pose as strangers anyway, and she hoped the odd peculiarity of appearance wouldn't matter too much.

Nigel obviously didn't want to talk about appearances for long, as he asked her again: 'So, what's the plan?'

Sydney sat down on the grass, and Nigel alighted next to her, carefully folding his legs. He still wasn't _that_ used wearing a skirt. 'What you know about Hatshepsut and her omniscient eye?'

'Same as you, I suppose,' replied Nigel. 'Hatshepsutwas an Egyptian queen, the most powerful and long reigning of them all. They said her power was such that it had to be boosted by supernatural means. Hence the legend of the eye: apparently, it allowed its user to see what decision they should make for the best outcome… but there was never any historical evidence that it really existed.'

Sydney frowned. 'Well, if it exists, it seems that Veronica traced it, using time travel and modern day experts, as far as Nevium in the 1st century, AD. It's amazing that something with so much power has been kept out of circulation for so long. If it fell into the wrong hands….'

'… the hands of somebody who could also travel time?' interjected Nigel.

Sydney nodded. 'In the wrong hands, this stone could have the power to change the whole course of history, and mould it to the will of whoever possessed it.'

Nigel groaned. 'And yet giving it to her is our only hope of ever getting home. That's just marvelous.'

Sydney rose and brushed the grass from her skirt. 'We'll worry about that when we come to it. For now, we've got to find this thing. You've got to talk to the man who brought it here.'

'The sex-mad consul?'

Sydney looked at him quizzically. 'How do you know he's sex mad?'

'Don't even ask,' replied Nigel. He had enough to worry about, without remembering the nightmare that was his 'quiet little teaching job.'

……………………………….

The streets of the Roman city were bustling with all forms of life: men and women, citizens and slaves, children and animals. Despite this, Sydney and Nigel attracted plenty of probing looks and raised eyebrows as they attempted to look inconspicuous. Sydney realised she was exceptionally tall compared to most of the other women, and her striking looks engendered whispers and finger pointing. Nigel, height-wise, blended in better but his perpetual gaze of wide-eyed wonderment did not aid any semblance of ordinariness.

'Sydney, this is amazing!' he whispered, scanning from side-to-side to take in as much as he could. 'There has got to be a way to document this. We could revolutionise the social history of the ancient world!'

'Later, Nigel,' hissed Sydney, smiling congenially at a wealthy looking man, wearing a tunic embroidered with gold and silk threads, who saluted her with a lecherous grin. 'We need to find the consul's house, remember? Who are you going to ask?'

'To be honest, nobody has really struck me as being the one yet…' Some Roman soldiers, larger and taller than most of the members of the public around them, marched round the corner, doubly reminding Nigel that this was not a nice, safe research field-trip. Sydney slipped her arm through his and led him off in the opposite direction. The wealthy looking man, who was tall like the soldiers, looked curiously after them, and then shouted a command to the soldiers.

'Stop that man and the beautiful woman!'

Nigel launched into a run, but was abruptly halted when Sydney yanked him back by his toga. 'I don't think running will do us any good, Nigel. This needn't be a bad thing, maybe they'll help us.'

'Maybe,' gulped Nigel uncertainly. They turned around to face the music.

………………..

'You are not a citizen!' The man pointed an accusing finger straight at Nigel.

As the Roman soldiers encircled them, Nigel attempted a confident smile. 'No, no….well, not of here, anyway.'

'Of where _are_ you a citizen, then?'

Nigel opened his mouth then shut it again in the manner of a goldfish. He wished they had thought of these important details beforehand. Sensing her assistant was floundering Sydney extracted her best Latin from the recesses of her mind and came to the rescue.

'Let me apologise for my husband, Sir. We are not used to the sights and sounds of such a wonderful city. We have traveled from far in the north, from the territory known as Briton, when my husband was born. His father was a citizen of Rome, no less, one of the first conquerors of that untamed wilderness.'

Their inquisitor looked unconvinced, narrowing his eyes. 'You are the son of a Roman citizen?' Nigel nodded as confidently as confidently as he could. 'That does not make _you_ a citizen.'

'I'm a partial citizen,' said Nigel quickly dredging his memory for the intricacies of Roman law. 'It was granted to me by Emperor Titus.' He knew the date of this emperor should fit. He just hoped that this man was not an intimate friend. Fortunately, the wealthy looking man, who had graying blonde hair, seemed satisfied for now.

'Will you introduce me to your beautiful wife?'

'Yes, of course.' Now he needed a name! Despite being a much simpler demand on him than remembering the legal details, every Roman name he ever knew fled from his memory.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating silence, Nigel sweepingly gestured at his charming 'spouse' and said: 'this is Boadicea.'

A shockwave of startled voices resonated through the marketplace: 'could the warrior queen be alive?' A woman screamed, 'she's come to massacre us all!' Nigel knew, even as he spoke, that he had messed this one up badly. It was only a few years since the bloody rebellion by the Queen of the Iceni had been suppressed by the occupying Romans.

'Sydney, I'm sorry,' he hissed out of the side of his mouth. 'My mind blanked. I couldn't think of any other name.'

Sydney had appropriated her most benign smile. 'Please, don't be alarmed,' she addressed the populace. 'I'm not _that_ Boadicea. My mother, poor misguided soul, worshipped the woman before she realised the error of her ways. Nobody calls me Boadicea now, apart from my husband when he wants to chastise me.'

'Yes, that's right,' said Nigel, nodding enthusiastically. 'I call her that to keep her in her place. She knows what becomes of nasty British rebels! Down with them, the barbarians!' Nigel emphasised this last point by pumping his fist.

Their original interviewer was looking increasingly perplexed. 'Your wife is from that godforsaken little island, too? I find that hard to believe. I thought all the natives of the North were as pasty as you are.'

'Oooooh no. My wife comes from a tribe of beautiful British warriors who _all_ look as gorgeous as she does.' Nigel hoped everyone else was finding this more persuasive than he was. 'They're all loyal to Rome, now,' he added as an afterthought. Sydney smiled sweetly again to affirm this point.

'Well, I'm glad to hear that,' said the wealthy looking man. 'However, you had not told me what brings you to our city?'

'We need to speak to the consul,' said Nigel, hoping that he wasn't going to be asked for a reason.

Instead, the man adopted a commanding stance, placing both hands on his hips, and said: 'You're speaking to him.'

**More soon. Please review!**


	3. orgy!

**Dislaimers: as before.**

**Warning: Roman orgy, sexual stuff but nothing too explicit!**

To Sydney and Nigel's surprise, after he revealed his identity, the consul showed boundless hospitality. Indeed, he invited them back to his house to speak to him about whatever they chose. The only condition, he insisted, was that they left business until tomorrow and agreed to be his special guests at a party he was giving that evening for a 'few good companions'.

Sydney accepted the invitation gushingly, and said that she and Quintus, as Nigel had now introduced himself, would be honoured to stay.

They were guided to a particular grand villa. Its door opened into a hall decorated with the most spectacular mosaics, mainly depicting men and women in various stages of undress and engaged in various sorts of courting activities. Nigel remembered what Veronica has taught him about Consul Agroitus Poculus and wondered nervously, although not without a hint of excitement, exactly what the evening might have in store.

Sydney took everything in her stride, including the suggestive comments Agroitus let slip as he walked beside her. She rewarded him, for now, with a coy giggle. It wasn't yet time to show him who was the _real_ warrior princess.

……………………

For Nigel, the evening got underway quite pleasantly. He in Sydney were shown to a large dining room, in which he was allotted his own, rather comfortable, couch. Sydney didn't seem to get her own, but perched on the end as he reclined. After a while, a few other couples began to arrive, and then some soldiers and some apparently single women. Slaves began to bring around silver platters of various delicacies, including oysters, olives and cheese. Ignoring Nigel, they offered the dishes to Sydney who piled high an earthenware plate, and then knelt down in front of him.

'Is this for me?' enquired Nigel delightedly. 'How kind!'

Sydney glanced around the room. 'It seems to be the custom for the women to serve their husbands.' She plucked a plump red grape off a large bunch. 'Open wide, Nigel.'

'No! I'm not a two-year-old. It'll look ridiculous. Won't it?' Nevertheless, as he surveyed the scene he observed that the other husbands and wives seemed to be enjoying this little ritual. After a hesitation, Nigel opened his mouth. Although he felt incredibly silly, he reasoned that there was much worse ways to get fed them by the fair hands of Sydney Fox. Sydney popped the grape in his mouth, her fingers brushing on his lips for a moment.

'Thank you,' said Nigel, still embarrassed. Sydney picked up a piece of cheese and repeated the procedure. This time her fingers lingered slightly longer, brushing down the side of his face as they retreated. 'Thanks,' said Nigel hastily. Sydney wondered if he was finding this as strangely erotic as she was.

A woman entered the room carrying a high pottery urn and began pouring wine into tall, glass goblets. 'Would you like some wine, husband dear?' asked Sydney, her eyes glinting with mischief.

'Maybe I shouldn't,' replied Nigel rapidly. He was finding everything quite as exciting as Sydney was, and would have loved some wine. Nevertheless, he was terrified of making a fool of himself.

Elsewhere, however, the plonk was flowing freely. 'I think it would look a bit odd if we didn't drink any at all,' said Sydney, rising and beckoning over the serving girl.

Once in possession of two full glasses, she handed one to Nigel. 'I think you'd better do this yourself, my love,' she said with a wink. 'I don't want to spill it down your nice white tunic.'

Well, if she insisted! Nigel took healthy gulp. Like all true Englishmen in a stressful situation, he found a great comfort in alcohol. The liquid was unexpectedly sweet, more like Port than modern wine, and filled his mind with images of peasant maidens in voluminous blouses treading freshly harvested grapes. It had a kick like vodka. Nigel liked it.

He was about halfway down the goblet, when Sydney, who had had perched herself down on the couch in front of him, placed her hand on the glass and pried it away. 'Take it easy, Nigel. I think the action is only just beginning.'

The wine had certainly triggered some interesting reactions among their fellow guests. Some of the 'single ladies' seemed to have inadvertently slipped out of their loosely fitting clothing and were now draping themselves around the bodies of the Roman soldiers. Some of the married couples also seem to have discovered that there was plenty of room for two to recline quite happily on the couches.

'Oh my God,' said Nigel, hoping he sounded disgusted. 'I think they're starting an orgy!'

'Well, we've been to one before, haven't we?'

'You mean that time in Rome when you…. well, you know what we did!'

Sydney reclined forward on the sofa, nudging Nigel up against the back of the couch. There was certainly room for two. She cupped her chin in her hand. 'What was it you said that we did?' she teased. 'Our bodies were rubbing and pressing together, were they?'

'No…no. There was none of that. Certainly not,' Nigel shrank back into the corner as much as he could in order to minimise their current rubbing and pressing.

'Oh relax, Nigel,' soothed Sydney, the arm which wasn't supporting her chin snaking its way around the back of his neck and shoulders. 'That time we had to worry about rescuing Claudia and fighting off some Neanderthal as well as finding a relic. Besides, it wasn't even a _proper_ Roman orgy. Consider this fieldwork. You said what we find out here could revolutionise the social history of the ancient world, remember?'

'This wasn't exactly what I had in mind.' Before Sydney could intervene, Nigel drained the rest of his glass of wine. While the rest of the world around him grew slightly hazy, he became acutely aware of the presence of Sydney's fingers which had sneaked under the top of his toga and were gently brushing his shoulder.

He blessed his employer with a rather clownish smile, which Sydney reciprocated and then drained her own glass with abandon. The next thing Nigel knew, her bare toes were running up the side of his legs as she folded one of her long legs forward, snaking it around his. It tickled, and Nigel gave a nervous giggle. Her face was now just inches from his, reflections of candlelight shimmering in her deep brown eyes.

'They do say,' whispered Sydney, ''when in Rome…''

Even with his senses departing him, and part of him aching to see exactly what Sydney was willing to do 'when in Rome,' Nigel decided this was all going far too fast. He sat bolt upright, removing himself from intimate proximity to lips he would very much liked to have kissed.

'Syd. Isn't this is all a bit, well, fast?' The room seemed hazy, even though nobody was smoking.

'Relax, Nigel, have some fun!' Nigel stared down at her, his eyes wide once again. What was she suggesting? 'Look, I promise I won't let you do anything you'll regret in the morning. But haven't you always wanted to go to a party like this?'

Nigel shrugged and conceded that the thought might have crossed his mind, but only in his fantasies. It was one of those occasions that he never expected to encounter in reality and he really _didn't_ want to do anything he regretted.

'Get up,' ordered Sydney suddenly.

'What did I do wrong now?' bewailed Nigel. He extracted his legs from between hers and raised himself from the couch as she moved out of the way. He was only standing for an instant when, just as abruptly, Sydney grabbed him by the toga and pulled him back down so he was lying in front of her. She entwined him in her arms, resting his head against her chest. Nigel, who so far had not resisted any of this, opened his mouth to protest and then checked himself. What exactly was there to complain about? Glancing around the room, he noticed they were in a far less compromising position than any other of the other couples, trios and various groupings who were taking their pleasure around them.

Besides, he had rarely felt as comfortable as he did now, resting on such a warm, soft pillow. Unsure what exactly was required of him next on this fieldwork trip, Nigel observed that one of the slave girls had refilled his glass, which was now within his reach on a small wooden table. He took a healthy gulp.

Sydney did not try and stop him. Extracting one arm from her quarry she took another sip herself, drinking in the sights and sounds of the room. Nothing shocked Sydney Fox, but this certainly was quite a party. In the background somewhere, a slave had started strumming away at a lute, the notes intermingling with the voices and laughter of the merrymakers. Nigel was watching too, but, with one of her arms still encircling him, Sydney could feel that he was still not quite comfortable in his new position. What would it take for him to relax, she wondered?

'Come on, Nigel,' she murmured, 'we might as well enjoy the show. Fieldwork, remember?' With her free hand, she began massaging one of his shoulders. Nigel let out a moan that might just have been one of pleasure. Sydney found this surprisingly rewarding. 'Relaxed, now?' Sydney plucked another juicy grape and popped it in his mouth. This time he received the gift enthusiastically and licked her departing fingers. Sydney was unsure if this was accidental or deliberate.

Nigel was indeed starting to feel a little bit _too_ relaxed, as the potent effects of the wine seeped through his body. It all seemed unreal; surely this was a dream, and therefore he could do what he liked? He downed another glass of wine.

Next time, when Sydney placed a piece of cheese in his mouth, she found that her fingers were not just licked but momentarily detained in his moist lips. 'Nigel!' she exclaimed, semi-shocked, half pleased. Nigel looked up at her with a cheeky grin that bordered on the wicked.

'Hello, my Warrior Princess!' he growled in an unfamiliar, feral tone. His face was flushed and his eyes slightly glazed. He was absolutely plastered.

Nigel reached up and seized her face within his two hands. He then pulled her lips to hers, and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. 'When in Rome!' thought Sydney, as she willingly reciprocated. Their bodies rolled together on the couch, and Sydney found herself right on top of him. One of his hands was tangled in her long, silky hair and the other seemed to be drifting dangerously towards her breasts.

As her own hands sensually caressed him, she awkwardly recalled her promise that she wouldn't let him do anything he regretted in the morning. Reluctantly, she released him, and pushed herself up on her arms. Nigel flopped back against the couch, panting and excited.

'Nigel, you won't regret this in the morning, will you?'

'Not for a second, my Boadicea,' slurred Nigel, and launched himself up at her, arms outstretched. Sydney had little choice but to receive him as he flung his limbs around her. Nigel then groaned and jolted back down onto the couch, dragging her with him, and ceased to move. As Sydney extracted herself, she realised that the alcohol had got the better of him, and Nigel was out for the count.

**More to come. Please review – let me know if you like it or not! Thanks.**


	4. a turn for the worse

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

…………………………

'Nigel!'

Sydney gave his shoulder a gentle shake. Nigel stirred a little, mumbled something incomprehensible, and then rolled onto his side and began to snore softly.

'Oh, Nigel,' sighed Sydney. She knew his 'departure' was probably timely, but she could not quite to deny her disappointment.

Perched, now rather self-consciously, on the edge of the couch, Sydney noticed that their host, Agroitus Poculus, was watching her intently. As she inadvertently made eye contact, he rose, shooed away two slave girls who were serving him oysters, and began to make his way over towards her.

'Uh-oh,' thought Syd. She was glad she that she could handle her alcohol and was still on her guard. Nevertheless, she realised that this could be a good opportunity to find out the whereabouts of the relic.

'Your husband can't take his liquor,' stated Agroitus as he neared her, looking down at Nigel with disdain. He seems rather callow to possess such a fine wife.'

'He's very tired,' offered Sydney as an explanation. She brushed a lock of Nigel's hair away from where it had flopped over his forehead, in a successful attempt to make him look a little nobler. This did not, however, impress Agroitus.

'You fuss over him more like his mother than his wife,' he snorted, and stretched out his hand in invitation. 'Let me show you how to enjoy yourself in a method that your husband could never dream of.'

Sydney accepted the proffered hand, but assured Agroitus that 'Quintus' certainly knew how to show a girl a good time. She glanced nervously back at Nigel as she let Agroitus lead her way. She daren't go too far, leaving him so vulnerable in the middle of the room of revellers.

Agroitus showed Sydney to a particularly comfortable couch and then took his place on another set at an angle beside. Slave girls appeared as if from nowhere, offering oysters and more of the sweet, fortified wine. Syd responded to Agroitus' small talk and flirtatious banter as best as she could. Educated as she was, this wasn't the kind of prose that she was much used translating, let alone speaking out loud. Besides, the more she spoke to the man, the more she disliked him. He had a sleazy, self-confident air that reminded her of De Viega.

Nigel was not the only person in the room feeling the effects of the freely flowing beverages. As the evening drew on, several of the other decadents succumbed to its spell, and were slouched in various corners, snoring and moaning. Even Sydney eventually felt its punch, and wished she didn't have to concentrate quite so hard on her conversation.

At length, Agroitus turned attention to the subject she was looking for. He enjoyed her company, he said, and was willing to provide her with whatever information her husband needed.

Keen to get away from this man as soon as possible, Sydney got straight to the point. 'We were told that you know the whereabouts of a powerful ancient relic, which once belonged to an Egyptian queen. It is very important that my husband and I find this, and make sure that it is safe.'

A look of suspicion and flashed across Agroitus' face and then melted into a benevolent smile. He patted a space on his couch beside him, and beckoned Sydney over. 'This is a very secret matter,' he said confidentially. 'We must not be overheard.'

Sydney graciously rose from her couch, poured her host a large glass of wine, and handed it to him before she seated herself where it was requested. Agroitus grinned predatorily while Sydney simpered prettily, deftly concealing her loathing. Inside, she was sincerely praying that he would talk quickly and then pass out like everyone else. She could already smell the stench of alcohol on his hot, shallow breath.

He placed his arm around her waist. 'My dear,' he leered, 'the relic you speak of has been hidden for a reason. If it fell into the wrong hands it could reap the most terrible havoc.'

Sydney fluttered her eyelashes. 'I know. Which is why my husband and I came here: to warn you.' She licked her lips provocatively. 'Do tell me, where is it? Is it safe?'

Agroitus gave a sinister chortle and leaned up so his face was just inches from hers. 'What would you give to find out?'

'A kiss?' suggested Sydney optimistically.

'Much more has been given to me tonight than just a kiss, my love, and from women with more effectual husbands than yours.'

He reached up and began to fondle the side of her neck. 'Damn,' thought Syd. 'This isn't working.' She wondered if this horrid man would submit to a bit of old-fashioned arm-twisting or some other such information-inducing pain. She had to get him alone.

She smiled sweetly, and pushed away his hand, placing another glass of wine in it.

'Can we go somewhere more private?' she requested.

'This _is _private,' said Agroitus, and downed his drink. He was right. Just about everybody else had fallen asleep, and the slave girls had vanished as subtly as they appeared. Agroitus, too, was getting very drunk, and Sydney began to wonder if this mission might be better left to the morning anyway. If he got inebriated enough, she hoped he might think she'd given him what he desired when he awoke in the morning and then tell _her _what she wanted.

Unfortunately, Agroitus was relatively resilient. After draining yet another glass, he was still awake and, most disgustingly of all, he began groping towards her chest and requesting a kiss in an incoherent voice.

She was about to dodge out of the way and pour him another glass of wine when she heard a voice that was not speaking Latin. Like everyone else's speech, it was rather slurred, but nevertheless, it was the perfect Queen's English.

'Excuse me, sir, will you please get your filthy hands off my wife!'

Sydney spun around to find her teaching assistant stumbling towards them, his hair ruffled, his eyes unfocussed, and generally looking somewhat unsteady.

Agroitus, nearly as drunk, pushed himself shakily to his feet, at which point Nigel swung his left fist in the Roman Consul's direction. Agroitus ducked, and Nigel plummeted forward onto the couch, landing with his face in Sydney's lap, perfectly unconscious again.

Agroitus saw this as a challenge, even though he had not understood the words that had been said. He was not used to people standing up to him, and he didn't like it. His anger sobered him up fast, even as Sydney attempted to apologise.

'I'm terribly sorry about my husband, Sir. He likes to defend me.' She placed a protective arm over Nigel as she attempted to woo back Agroitus' pleasure with another simpering smile.

This time, it was to no avail as Agroitus began to rant: 'I let you into my house, even though you need be no more than runaway slaves. First you toy with me, and then your pathetic husband insults me. I am no longer interested in you and your tales of magic stones. There is no such thing. I wish you to leave this house first thing in the morning. If I see you again, I will instantly have you both sold.'

'What a charming man, you are,' retorted Sydney as their host stormed from the room. Nevertheless, she realised the battle was lost for now. She settled Nigel carefully on the couch, and snuggled up next to him for the night.

…………………………..

When Nigel's eyes flickered open in the morning light, the first sensation that struck him was the heavy throbbing in his head. This jogged memories of the night before, which fizzled out into a haze of cheese, wine and kissing Sydney.

Kissing Sydney! Had he really done that?

He sat up with a groan, and found that Sydney was seated on a mat in front of him, brushing her hair with an ivory comb she had somehow appropriated.

'Morning Nigel!' she said cheerily.

'Good Morning,' croaked Nigel and lay back down. He wasn't quite ready for being vertical just yet.

'Oh God,' he moaned. 'What happened last night?'

'Don't worry, you're not the only one who is rather worse for wear this morning,' said Syd, referring to the other slumbering bodies that were still draped around the room. 'And you didn't do anything you would regret,' she said, lying slightly.

'Didn't I?'

'Well, apart from taking a swing at our host.'

Nigel covered his face with both his hands. 'Oh no… I have no recollection.'

'I think you'd better leave the talking to me this morning,' suggested Sydney. 'Neither of us will be in his good books. He certainly had a bit of a soft spot for _me, _though,before your bout of chivalry put paid to that. If not, it might be worth talking to members of the household. Somebody must know something about Hatshepsut's Eye._'_

Nigel pulled himself slowly into a sitting position, frowning at her blearily. Sydney handed him a pottery goblet full of water. 'Drink that,' she ordered. 'It's straight from a spring.'

Nigel did so, and his head fell slightly better, even if his stomach still didn't feel too great. He was just attempting to stand up, when they were both distracted by a dainty cough that came from behind one of the nearby pillars.

A slip of a girl with long, caramel hair, not older than in her teens, peered out from behind and then vanished. Syd gave Nigel a 'what's this?' look, and headed in her direction. She then let a tiny hand, which came out and grabbed hers, direct her behind another pillar.

'Madam,' said the girl in the softest whisper, 'I was serving you and my master last night and I heard you mention the precious relic he brought with him from Rome.'

'You did?' said Syd. If this girl knew something, it could just be the breakthrough they were looking for.

'Yes. And I want you to find it. My master is a bad man. He stole the Eye after being told about it by a senator who wished it to be kept from an evil Emperor. But he used it for his own ends. He has risen rapidly to power and wealth and wants to use the relic to help him rule the empire himself one day.'

'How do you know this?' asked Syd, surprised by the girl's knowledge of her master's affairs.

'I may speak little, but I look and I hear. Sometimes great men forget slaves are really people. They become careless around us.'

Sydney smiled sympathetically. She wished she could help this girl, but how?

'Do you know where he has hidden it?

'I believe,' said the girl, even quieter than before, 'he consults it in a hidden chamber under the amphitheatre. He loves the fights there, especially when they are brutal, and goes there every time there is a show.'

'Thank you,' said Syd humbly. She knew this girl was taking a great risk. 'I will find a way to repay you for this.'

'There's little you can do for me, I'm afraid,' said her confidant wistfully. 'Besides, you've already inspired me. I've never seen a woman stand up to that evil man before. You were wonderful. If only I could be like you!'

'What's your name?' The girl said she was called Lydia.

Sydney looked into her eyes sincerely. 'Just remember, Lydia, nobody owns your heart. No woman is ever completely powerless if she remembers that. Be true to yourself and something good will happen for you, I promise…'

Sydney was not given a chance to offer more than words. Loud male voices were heard approaching and Lydia scuttled off, vanishing as she was so used to doing.

Sydney stepped out from behind a pillar to greet a scene that she did not like.

Four large soldiers, clad in iron breastplates, had marched over to where Nigel had retaken to his couch. One of them was hauling him roughly to his feet as he meekly protested: 'I'm a citizen of err, Colchester…'

'The Consul has been informed that you and your so-called wife are runaway slaves,' one of the soldiers was saying. 'Where is the woman?'

'She was here a minute ago,' pleaded Nigel, wondering if it would do any good to call for help. The soldier shook him violently. 'Where is she?'

'I'm here, boys,' said Sydney from behind. Before the three men who weren't manhandling Nigel had a chance to respond, Sydney had floored one of them with a vicious kick to his back, seized his sword, and taken an aggressive stance. She parried blows from both the remaining soldiers, spinning her sword skilfully between swipes. After beating one back, and injuring the other in the arm, they retreated, awed by her skill.

Meanwhile, Nigel had also taken advantage of the matter that his captor was transfixed by the display. He had wriggled free, kicking the soldier with some aggression, and ran around to behind where Sydney was holding her line.

Unfortunately, hearing the kerfuffle, several other soldiers who had been taking their breakfast and recovering from the night before entered the room to the rear of Sydney and Nigel. They were accompanied by none other than Agroitus himself.

Sydney, realising things were getting desperate, feigned a swipe at one of the nearest soldiers, grabbed Nigel and darted for the nearest window. It was a long shot, and they never made it. Several guards fell upon each of them, and even Sydney was quickly overpowered.

Sydney, held tightly as she was, refused to show weakness and stared daggers at Agroitus. 'Your standards of hospitality have declined since last night,' she growled. 'But not much… I'm still been pawed by hideous men.'

Agroitus shoved his face close into hers and laughed: 'You've denied me for the last time, my beautiful one,' he leered. Sydney snarled.

Their eyes locked into a deadly battle, which was only broken when Nigel's voice drifted between them, small and apprehensive.

'If this is about last night, I'm terribly sorry. I was drunk! In fact, I have no recollection of _anything_ I did. It's not worth killing us for, is it?'

Agroitus' eyes wavered for a second, before he re-fixed his icy glare on Sydney alone. 'No. Why would I do that when I can make good money out of both of you at the market?'

Sydney's attention, however, was no longer devoted to her nemesis. Seeing Nigel, held firm in the arms of two large soldiers, she was hit by a wave of fear. She could fight to the death against whatever this man had in store for her, but she hated the thought of Nigel having to do the same.

Catching her eye, Nigel said nothing, but his face communicated his sheer terror. Sydney's fear was compounded by guilt. She should never have let things come to this. Why hadn't she come up with a better plan?

Agroitus' face was still hovering inches from her own, chuckling darkly. 'You will be unable to say no to any man who possesses you as his property, my dear!'

Sydney swallowed hard. She wasn't concerned about herself. She had to stop Nigel being sold as a slave and left at the mercy of whatever monster purchased him.

'I'll do what you like, Agroitus, for you or any other man. Let my husband go.'

'No!' said Nigel, his voice infinitely firmer than before. 'If anyone goes free, it is my wife.'

Agroitus merely laughed again. 'Neither of you are in a position to negotiate,' he said, still addressing Sydney alone. 'Your stripling husband might make somebody a decent domestic slave. If not, I'll get good money for him at the mines…or maybe the arena. He won't last long at either, but the gladiators like easy pickings. The owners can't afford to lose valuable men every evening!' Sydney let out a cry of frustration as her struggles came to nothing in the soldiers' powerful grip.

Agroitus continued: 'As for you, my sweet one, you _are_ truly fine. I hope to make a good few denari out of you, especially now I know the true extent of your skills. Take them away!'

To Sydney's consternation, the guards dragged her off in a completely different direction to that in which they took Nigel. 'Hang on in there, Nigel' she shouted over her shoulder, sounding as encouraging as she could.

Nigel did not reply. Her last impression of him was the utterly destitute expression on his pale face as he was dragged from the room.

'You won't be seeing _him_ again,' jeered one of the guards. Although Sydney swore to herself that she would find Nigel soon, the words hit her like a sledgehammer and nearly broke her heart.

**Thanks for reading. Please, please review!**


	5. Very bad day: part 1!

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Warning: angst!**

Over the next few hours, Nigel Bailey became much more familiar with the 'social history of the ancient world' than even he would have liked.

By late morning, he found himself chained to a wooden post in the middle of a busy marketplace, wearing nothing but a very small loin cloth and feeling utterly naked. For sale to the highest bidder, he had been prodded, poked, slapped and generally examined by whatever smelly member of the populace deigned to show interest.

Nigel had long since worked out there was little point in protesting, or indeed in saying anything at all. Nobody listened to him, and all questions were fired over his head to the agent in charge of his sale.

The said agent was strutting around him with a grin on his face like a large Cheshire cat, but much more sinister. This slave-trader was having a good day; as soon as he'd laid eyes on Nigel, he knew he'd got a money-spinner. Wealthy citizens constantly gathered around, complementing his the seller on Nigel's teeth and other attributes, and generally agreeing that he was a particularly 'fine specimen.'

Looking at the other 'goods' on offer, Nigel could see why he was causing such a fuss. The other slaves looked even more wretched than he felt. They were a lean-looking bunch, with barely an ounce a fat between them, their bones covered by nothing but skin and taut muscle. Their faces were drawn and haggard, even though Nigel guessed that some were several years younger than he was. Early on, Nigel attempted to make eye contact and even offered a friendly greeting to the man nearest to him, but his fellow sufferer ignored him, staring resolutely ahead. The man's face seethed with anger mixed with a sullen resignation. Nigel imagined he had been in this horrible situation before.

Feeling less and less a person and more and more like a juicy piece of meat, Nigel attempted to turn his mind to other things.

His most pressing thought, of course, was the matter of where Sydney was or, more to the point, _how_ she was. He hated the thought of her being degraded like this, and hoped she had staged a magnificent escape. This glimmer of hope buoyed him up considerably: if Sydney had escaped, surely the first thing she would do would be to find him and rescue him. Surely it was only a matter of time… wasn't it?

Nigel was attempting to will these thoughts into reality when, to his consternation, he saw a face in the crowd that he recognized. It was the round, flabby face of a white-haired old man, well known to him but not one he'd seen for a while. Nigel blinked hard. He _must _be hallucinating: that was Professor Bluthus, who had tutored him in Roman Civilisation at Oxford!

The old man looked as shocked as Nigel. He stared at the 'goods for sale' in wonder and then started pushing away through marauding masses. Nigel, barely caring whether it was an hallucination or not, called after him in English: 'Professor Bluthus! It's me – Nigel Bailey! You taught me at Oxford.' The man was fast retreating from his vision. 'Surely you remember me?' hollered Nigel. 'You gave me a double first!'

Nobody paid any more attention to him than when he spoke their native tongue, except for the nasty slave trader. He was concerned that this outburst might put off the buyers and gave poor Nigel a nasty slap. Professor Bluthus was no longer anywhere to be seen. 'Damn,' thought Nigel, 'now I'm seeing things.' He laid his head back against the pillar and shut his eyes. It was time to pretend that this was not happening.

After a few minutes, he felt a firm prod on the shoulder that could not be ignored. It was accompanied by a genteel Englishman's voice: 'Pssssssssssssst! Nigel! Wake up!'

Nigel abruptly opened his eyes. 'Professor Bluthus! Oh God, am I glad to see you.' Nigel would have hugged his old Professor if only his hands had not been chained to the post.

'Sshhhhhhh. Yes. Look, I assume you got here the same way as I did. That godforsaken witch of an undergraduate, eh? I was on a secondment term at an L.A. University when she accosted me.'

'She said the last expert she sent was dead…'

'Hhhhmmmmmmm,' rumbled Professor Bluthus, a mannerism that Nigel remembered from when the Oxford Don had taught him years before. 'She doesn't know everything yet, eh? Anyway, there's no time to talk now. I'm going to _buy_ you, my lad.'

'I never thought I'd be pleased to hear anybody say that,' sighed Nigel.

Professor Bluthus trotted off to speak to the slave trader, but came back after a few minutes looking concerned.

'What is it?' asked Nigel, more panicky now than earlier when his hopes of freedom had not been raised.

'It's no good, Nigel,' lamented Professor Bluthus, 'I've offered everything I could borrow off my master at such short notice, and it's not enough. There have already been offers for you of nearly a thousand denari. There's a bidding war going on.'

'Your _master_ gave you the money?' said Nigel incredulously. 'So you're a slave as well. Oh, this is just marvellous.' He laid his head back against the pillar again, looking particulalry non-plussed.

Professor Bluthus was slightly hurt: 'I prefer to think of myself as an 'old retainer.' I hold a trusted position in Marcellus Didimus's household… but that's not the issue now, is it, Nigel? There might just be something we can do.'

'What?' said Nigel urgently. He could now see that the trader was talking to a group of men and women who were eyeing him hungrily and getting out their purses.

'Cough!' said Professor Bluthus.

'Cough?'

'Yes. Cough, faint, sneeze - do anything. Just stop looking so damn healthy.'

Nigel caught his gist perfectly. He took a deep breath and started to have a dramatic coughing fit, which culminated in a theatrical groan and an attempt to collapse as far as one could when tied up. It would have been an Oscar-winning performance.

The potential buyers looked alarmed and the trader looked very angry. He stormed over and gave Nigel a kick, which was responded to with a pathetic whimper.

'What's wrong with him?' demanded the trader, looking very suspiciously at Professor Bluthus.

Professor Bluthus shook his head regretfully. 'Hhhhhhmmmmmm,' he rumbled loudly. 'I think it must be PLAGUE.' The last word was raised to a shout.

The plan worked perfectly. All of the enormous bids were withdrawn almost instantaneously. In the end, the exasperated trader was grateful to accept the fifty denari offered by the Professor just to have Nigel taken off his hands. His convulsive coughing, spluttering, moaning and thrashing around was now putting off the purchasers of the other 'goods,' who were concerned he was infectious.

…………….

Although still anxious about Sydney, it was a very relieved Nigel Bailey who accompanied his old Professor back to the luscious villa that the academic now called home, telling him about their recent misfortunes upon the way. Bluthus said little, but looked rather mournful. On arrival, he found Nigel some slightly more respectable clothing - a simple, white, knee-length tunic - and settled him down on the floor of his sparsely furnished quarters with some gratefully received lunch.

Next, with tears in his eyes, he told Nigel that neither of them could ever go home again.

'I'm sorry, my lad. It is out of the question. Believe me, every night I weep for the 'dreaming spires' of Oxford and for Jessie and Pat - my dogs, you know - but it's just too risky. The only way we get home is by giving that evil sorceress Hapshuset's Eye. That can't be done, you know? With the power of the stone _and_ time travel, she could change the course of history.' Then, rather more cheerfully, he added: 'Besides, it's wonderful for an old scholar like me to live out my days in a culture I have devoted my life to, finding out exactly what I got wrong! '

'But, Syd - I mean, Professor Fox – she'd think of something,' pleaded Nigel, trying not to spit out the revolting tasting broth he'd just been spooned into his mouth. 'I know she would.'

Professor Bluthus raised his eyes to heaven. 'Hmm. To think that my star pupil ended up with that terrible woman!'

Nigel spluttered out the liquid and nearly dropped his bowl. 'What on earth do you mean? Sydney is the best. If anybody can get us out of here, she can!' If this man had not just saved him from a fate worse than death, Nigel would have been even angrier.

'Please, Nigel. I had no idea you were so attached to her…' He tried to place his hand upon his ex-student's shoulder, but Nigel stood up quickly and glared at him. 'I just can't help thinking that she gave us historians a bad name. There was a time when people presumed we just sat in dusty libraries – as we do! Now they expect us to be able to chase about like Indiana Jones… and then mad women, like this Veronica, come along and expect us to be able to harness the supernatural power of the ancient world for her!'

Nigel wasn't swayed. 'I'm not sitting around here listening to you abusing Sydney - particularly while she could be in danger…or dead.' Articulating this last word fired Nigel up even more. 'I'm grateful for what you've done, but I need to find her.' Nigel dumped his bowl down on the floor and made for the door.

'Stop! Stop…Nigel, you're not thinking. You can't just walk out of here. I can make life as comfortable as possible for you - I'm the master's favourite - but if you leave without permission, you'll be a runaway slave. They'll catch you and then they'll be nothing I can do to help.'

Nigel halted, covering his genuine alarm with another violent glare. 'I don't care,' he rejoindered. 'I need to find her. And then we fully intend to go home!'

'Hhhhmmm,' rumbled Bluthus. 'I had no idea you were so headstrong, Nigel. You seemed such a disciplined young man when you were at Oxford.'

'It must be a bad habit I learnt from Sydney,' said Nigel dryly.

'Look, I don't approve of the reckless attempt that you think your Professor Fox will make to get you back to the 21st Century. However, if you stay with me for just a while you may find it helps you in discovering the relic.'

Nigel narrowed eyes suspiciously. His fondness for his old Professor had evaporated the moment he had denigrated Sydney. Nevertheless, he said: 'I'm listening.'

'I allied myself to Marcellus Didimus because he wanted the same thing as me: for Hapsushet's Eye to be put safely out of everyone's reach. Originally, Marcellus plotted its disappearance with a merchant called Agroitus Pocculus…'

'Agriotus Pocculus, I believe I've met him!'

'You have?' Bluthus looked impressed, but continued: 'Marcellus and Agroitus plotted together to get to the Eye away from Caesar. However, Agroitus' betrayed Marcellus and kept the stone for himself, using it to get promotion to the consul here. I persuaded Marcellus that it was still important that the stone was destroyed and so we followed him up here. Unfortunately, we have had no luck in finding where he keeps it'.

'I'm sorry. But I don't see how I can help… anyway, we already know that the stone is hidden in the amphitheatre!'

'It is?' said Bluthus. 'That's more progress than we've had in three months.'

'Well, Sydney _is_ the best.' Even though it was only luck – in the shape of Lydia - which had revealed this information to them, Nigel wasn't missing an opportunity to make this man understand just how wonderful his boss was!

'Maybe she is,' said Bluthus. 'But there is someone under this roof who knows even more than that.'

'If you're such a favourite here, why don't _you_ ask them?'

'Hhmmmm,' rumbled Bluthus. 'Because it's Marcellus' eldest daughter, Anita, and she loathes me - won't let me in her sight, let alone speak to me! However, she's wormed her way into Agroitus' affections. I've seen her flirting with him at the amphitheatre and then slipping away in the dead of night. I suspect she knows about the Eye, and wants the power for herself. One thing's for certain: her father hasn't got a clue what's going on, and won't hear a word against her.'

'If she won't go near you, why should she speak to me?'

'Because you're an attractive young man, that's why! She won't be able to resist you, slave or not. Get her talking…get her drunk!'

'You want me to seduce her?' asked Nigel incredulously. This was the last plan he'd expected stuffy old Bluthus to come up with.

Bluthus winked playfully. 'Come on, Nigel, you're a natural, I hear. You left a long trail of broken hearts behind you at Oxford…'

'Did I?' said Nigel, thinking back rapidly. The only heart he remembered getting broken was his own, a good few times. Although, there _might_ have been one or two others…

………………

'So what exactly as I supposed to do?' inquired Nigel, as Bluthus handed him some sort of cloth and a large jug of sweet smelling liquid.

'No student of one of the world's top universities should expect to have everything handed to them on a plate, Nigel,' said Bluthus pompously. 'You must learn to think for yourself!'

'This isn't an undergraduate history essay,' retorted Nigel. 'This is _your_ idea. I'd be out of here, searching for Sydney by now, if you hadn't persuaded me it might get us somewhere.'

'Yes, and with bounty-hungry slave-catchers on your tail, hhhmm?' rumbled Bluthus. 'Anyway, it isn't post-structural neo-Marxist theory, is it? Or even paltry rocket science! Just charm the girl… tell her you've got a message from Agroitus or something, just make sure she lets slip where he keeps the relic.'

Nigel looked skeptical, but agreed to try. 'What are these for?' he inquired, brandishing the jug and cloth.

'Use your initiative, my lad!' barked Bluthus, and then shoved Nigel through an open doorway into a large, marble-pillared saloon and left.

Nigel had barely steadied himself from his forced entrance when he heard a scream and cry of 'Intruder! Somebody help me!'

'What now?' thought Nigel, exasperated, before he was completely arrested by the vista afore him. In the middle of the room was a large sunken bath and in it reclined a beautiful blonde-haired young woman. Her modesty would have been completely uncovered if the liquid in which she was bathing had not been a pale, creamy colour and littered with flower petals.

Nigel stared at her, clueless of what to do or say. As the woman stared back at him, her expression changed, from that of horror and disdain, to that of cold curiosity. The deadlock was broken when a round old woman, accompanied by a burly man dressed in a leather smock, came dashing him. As the latter grabbed Nigel by the tunic in order to remove him from the scene, the woman in the bath said: 'No! Leave it. I think I like it.'

'But, Madam,' said the old woman. '_I_ was coming to serve you in the bath…'

'Is it the new house slave?' asked the bathing beauty, pointing at Nigel who was wondering if anybody was ever going to speak to him directly ever again.

'I think it must be, Madam,' said the woman. 'Bluthus got him very cheap, I hear.' The large man clad in leather released Nigel abruptly and shoved him away.

'I hope there's nothing wrong with it!' he bellowed.

'There's absolutely nothing wrong with me!' shouted Nigel, his frustration finally boiling over. 'If any of you had any manners you would have asked _me_ who I am and why I'm here! I _do_ have a tongue, you know? I even have a name. It's Nigel. '

The three other occupants of the room looked at him in surprise.

After a moment, the man in leather broke the silence. 'Shall I flog him for his insolence, Madam?'

'No, Marcus,' said the girl thoughtfully. 'I think I like him. Off with you two… I want him all to myself.'

'But, madam...' started the older woman, but a hand was raised to silence her.

'No 'buts'. If he doesn't please me, Marcus can flog him all he likes later. Now off you go.'

Despite the talk of flogging, Nigel was oddly pleased that he had finally been promoted from the station of an 'it' to a 'he.' He also found himself keen to explain to this pretty girl that, if it hadn't been for extenuating circumstances, he would have been _extremely_ expensive.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**Apologies for the extremity of Nigel torture...there might be _little _bit more to come...as I said, I've got an evil plot bunny! **


	6. Very bad day: part 2

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Warning: very angsty, some violence. But the 'hurt' is not without 'comfort,' I promise…**

**Thanks for the reviews. Roxie: next chapter, I promise! KatmuEllen: don't worry, nothing will be beyond repair, but I'm certainly feeling a bit guilty… **

……………………….

Left alone with the beautiful daughter of the household, Nigel's anger faded to apprehension. It was hardly polite stare at Anita but, despite his attempts to admire the villas fine painted ceilings, he found it _very _difficult to do anything else.

The girl stared back, expressionless, and then raised her hand and beckoned him over with a minimal gesture of the fingers.

Nigel approached, now deliberately aiming his eyes away from her. This close, he was worried that the ass's milk, or whatever it was, may not provide an adequate veil for her barely concealed flesh.

'What've you got there?' inquired the girl.

'Uh?' Nigel's eyes involuntarily snapped onto her body. 'Ooooh!'

The contours of the top of Anita's breasts were clearly visible above the bathing water. Flustered as he was, Nigel could not help but muse that she was a very beautiful woman. Then he registered that she was staring impatiently at the jug in his hand.

'Pour it in the bath, then,' she instructed slowly, as if she was talking to a child. Nigel obeyed, kneeling down on the ledge so as not to spill it everywhere, doing his very best to keep his eyes away from her very obvious attractions. A warm liquid, with a scent reminiscent of lavender water, trickled into the bath.

The woman then lifted her hand from the water and tugged lightly at the bottom of his thin, white tunic.

'Now, take this off.'

Nigel jumped to his feet in horror. 'Take it off?' he squealed, momentarily forgetting everything about the situation. 'I've only just met you!'

'Are you disobeying me, slave?' asked Anita, matter-of-factly. 'If you are, I'll call back Marcus and have you flogged.'

Nigel, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, stood for a moment and gaped in disbelief. The girl looked at him expectantly.

With an audible sigh, Nigel flung off his tunic, thanking some deity or other that he still had his very small loin-cloth on underneath. It wasn't _so_ bad, he supposed, with a grimace. After all, most of Nevium had now seen him practically naked! Moreover, he reasoned that stripping couldn't harm the seduction routine he was somehow supposed to 'pull off.'

Once bereft of his outer layer, Nigel shot Anita a thin, self-conscious smile, lacking any other idea of what to do or say. To his surprise, she smiled back, as her eyes scanned him up and down.

'What did you say your name was?' asked the girl, in a much friendlier tone.

'Nigel.'

'That's an interesting name. Where do you hail from?'

'Eng… Britain.'

'Ugh. That cold, godforsaken hole! Ah, well!' Her smile faded, and she resumed her straight, commanding tone. 'I need to wash. Climb in here with me.'

Nigel, not entirely unwillingly, followed her command. Spying a natural sponge on the side of the pool, he picked it up and lowered himself into the milky water.

Before the ripples he'd caused faded, Anita reached out her hand and begun running her fingers over Nigel's chest, seemingly enjoying herself very much indeed. It crossed Nigel's mind that had he known he was going to be quite so on 'display', he might have spent a bit of extra time in the gym lately. Then again, that sort of spare time was usuallybest spent reading a book…

Nigel gripped the site of the pool, wondering whether he was supposed to be getting any pleasure from this. Frankly, it tickled, and he was doing his best not to giggle.

'I'm surprised,' cooed Anita. 'I was angry when I heard my father had indulged that fat donkey Bluthus in buying him some cheap slave that took his fancy. Now I see you, I think even _I_ might forgive him. You really _are _a fine specimen. I cannot understand why you weren't very expensive.'

'I should have been,' admitted Nigel, regretfully, then silently chastised himself. Worrying about his monetary value was becoming a bad habit.

Anita ignored him and pointed to the sponge. 'Wash my back with that,' she commanded, swirling around in the water and then peeping at him coyly over her shoulder.

Nigel picked up the sponge and began to run it over her soft skin, squeezing it so that the water trickled down her shoulders.

'That's good,' she purred, glancing back at him again. She was clearly pleased, said Nigel thought this might be the moment to fulfill his mission.

He leant forward and whispered in her ear confidentially: 'I've got a message from Agroitus.'

Anita started, splashed back down into the water, and turned around to face him.

'What do you mean?' she demanded.

'Uh…' Nigel had to choose his words carefully. 'He wants to meet with you… tomorrow….err, yes, tomorrow night. At the place where he keeps the err…Eye?'

'The Eye?' said Anita suspiciously.

'Yes,' said Nigel hopefully. Had she a clue what he was on about? 'Do you know where he means?'

'Should I?'

'He…err, wanted me to check, so you didn't get lost?' Nigel hoped she couldn't tell just how wildly he was improvising.

'I suppose he doesn't want me to get caught in any of his nasty traps.'

'Yes, that's right,' agreed Nigel, nodding over enthusiastically. Now he was getting somewhere!

'Well, of course I know,' she said, affronted. 'The entrance is behind the lion's cage, you must mind where the water sloshes, and you mustn't touch the cat.'

'Well done!' said Nigel, thrilled with his success, despite the cryptic answer. _That_ he could handle. Now all he had to do was scarper…and find Sydney.

Before Nigel had time to conceive of a polite exit, it became very clear that Anita was not in a rush to terminate their little party. Indeed, she closed the already decreasing gap between them and wrapped both her arms around his shoulders, urging him forward as if for a kiss. Almost as a reflex, his own arms enveloped her narrow waist.

With her plush lips now only inches from his own, she asked breathily: 'What else did Agriotus send me? A kiss, perchance?'

Nigel kissed her nicely, but without passion, and then backed away. She was beautiful and sensuous, but the proximity of her tender, female curves only reinforced in him the sentiment that he had to go. He couldn't be playing boy-toy for some spoilt patricians daughter when Sydney could be suffering, dying even.

'I'm sorry,' said Nigel, prying himself from her arms and easing himself up so he was sitting on the side of the pool. 'Not that this isn't lovely… I mean, not that you're not lovely, but…I really have to leave.' Remembering his subservience, he then added apologetically. 'I've got other duties to get to: polishing, cleaning, scrubbing.' Mustering his best semblance of jolly enthusiasm, he added: 'I love my job. I just can't _wait _to get at those dirty dishes!'

Anita looked at him, disconcertingly expressionless once again. As Nigel rose to his feet, dripping wet, she let out a piercing scream.

Nigel jumped so high at the sudden aural onslaught that he nearly fell back into the pool. 'Damn!' He grabbed his tunic and ran straight for the exit. Unfortunately, on reaching it, he spotted Marcus and a grandly dressed man running down the corridor towards him, worried and fierce-looking. 'Bloody Hell!' Nigel did a swift about-turn, but was confronted by the round old woman, who clobbered him on the side of the head with a large, iron pan.

'Ow!' Nigel collapsed to his knees, stars flashing in front of his eyes.

'That slave tried to seduce me!' wailed Anita, as the two larger men fell upon him, fists flying.

……………….

Bluthus pleaded pathetically for his former student, but to no avail. Within an hour, Nigel had been sold again, this time as a punishment, to the keeper of the gladiators. It seemed that, despite her fondness for being touched, nobody laid hands on Marcellus' beautiful daughter and got away with it. So much for him being the good guy!

This time, Nigel knew he was truly wretched.

After the beating, which left him dazed, and bruised all over, he had been half-dragged, half-carried by Marcus, down to the amphitheatre. He had kicked and struggled a bit - what else was there left to do? - but to little avail. On arrival, another paltry amount of cash had been exchanged for him, and he was left in charge of a grizzled-looking fellow, completely bald, yet extremely lithe and muscular, like an aging sportsman.

The man, Demetrius, took hold of Nigel by his hair and prodded and pinched every muscle in his upper body. He then clamped long, heavy chains around his feet and hands and told him that from now on his life was going to be 'nasty, brutal and short.'

Nigel bit down hard on his bottom lip. His supply of witty repartee, and even of sarcasm, had run completely dry. He was simply doing his best to retain what he had left of his dignity. His weak ankle, which Marcus had kicked, hurt like hell. He could barely stand on it, and he tried to support all of his weight on the other leg. Suppressing the pain the best he could, he concentrated on the metallic taste of the blood which clotted on a cut in his mouth.

'Unless you prove yourself to be a warrior of remarkable ability,' barked Demetrius, 'which, seeing as you appear to be lame, I severely doubt, I don't think I'm going to bother wasting much time on training. The crowd likes a fight, but they also like a kill. You might be a good one for the Tigers…'

Nigel swallowed hard, but still said nothing. 'Where was Sydney? Where – oh God, where – was Sydney?' Now, the same line of thought ran through his head repeatedly, and each time his heart gave a stronger pang. 'Was she dead? Probably. Had she deserted him? No…she would never do that. Would she?'

As Demetrius appeared to be finishing with him, Nigel ventured one question: 'I came to Nevium with a woman. Tall, long dark hair, brown eyes… beautiful. Has she been brought here today?'

Demetrius snorted. 'Maybe there was a wench brought here today. Maybe I killed her. Maybe I ravaged her! It's all irrelevant to you: you'll never see her again.' Nigel's reaction was suppressed by yet another painful thwack across the back of his head.

……………………………….

Later that evening found Nigel huddled in a corner of a large, barely lit, underground room in which the arena slaves and the less well-lauded gladiators resided when they were not 'in use.' A few aggressive, and lecherous, shouts and grunts had been levied at Nigel as he was pushed into the chamber. However, because it had been 'feeding time' nobody had approached him. All had been engaged in fighting for their portion of the paltry leftovers and other scraps that were allotted to be shared, unequally, between them.

As Nigel had not even bothered to participate in the scrum, he was forgotten for the time being. Hampered by chains and limping as he was, he did his very best to hide.

His mind was taken off his pain and the horrific situation a little by the fascinating variety of languages and dialects that he could hear being spoken. Some of them, he did not recognize, and Nigel realised they must be long-forgotten languages, never written down, belonging to the 'barbarians' and other tribes whose cultures had been long lost in the mists of time. If things were any different, he lamented, this would be a wonderful opportunity. If only Sydney were here to sort things out.

Sydney. He would never see her again. As awful as the thought of being ripped limb-from-limb in the arena tomorrow was, this possibility, which now seemed a probability, was infinitely worse.

Then something really terrible happened. However hard he blinked, he could not prevent a single tear from escaping and trickling down his cheek. Lifting his hand, with a regretfully noisy clunk of the chains, he wiped it away and bit down hard again on his bottom lip. He couldn't cry! He could hear his father's voice pounding in his head:

'Come on, Nigel. Stiff upper lip! Big boys don't cry!'

And then Preston: 'You really are _such _a cry baby, Podge. It's barely a graze.'

Nigel had learnt not to cry, at least never in company. He had hardly shed a tear at his parents' funeral, although in private it had been different. He couldn't let himself down now. He pressed his face hard against his knees, trying to squeeze the tears away.

Suddenly, he felt a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, and a soft, deep voice with American inflections said, 'Nigel?'

Nigel looked up with a start that shook his whole body. Even in the dim light, he recognised the worried face, and the pair of twinkling eyes, that peered down at him: 'Derek Lloyd?'

'Yup, it's me, buddy,' replied Derek, with an encouraging grin. When Nigel didn't reply, Derek squinted into the dark to get a better look at the younger man. 'I saw you arrive. Then you vanished – I've been searching all over. Are you okay?'

Without reply, Nigel flung both of his arms around Derek's shoulders, as far as he could with the restrictive chains. He began to sob uncontrollably, burying his face in Derek's shoulder. Derek, unfazed but not unmoved, hugged Nigel to him.

'Hey. It's okay now,' he whispered. 'What did they do to you? Are you hurt?'

Nigel, still convulsed with a large backlog of tears, said nothing. Derek, not pursuing his inquiries, just repeated the words, 'it's okay now,' stroking Nigel's back soothingly and letting him cry.

After a while, the tears lessened. Nigel pulled himself away as far as Derek's protective clasp would allow. 'I'm so sorry,' sniffed Nigel. 'I've made an idiot of myself…again… it's just Sydney. She's…I think…she's dead.' Nigel's voice sounded so forlorn that Derek was genuinely alarmed.

'Sydney Fox? Dead?' Derek placed both of his hands on Nigel's shoulders, scrutinizing his face, which he could still scarcely see in the dim light, seeking affirmation. 'You saw her die?'

'No…..' conceded Nigel, his speech broken by half-suppressed sobs. 'But that man…Demetrius…told me a woman of her description was brought here earlier, and he said he might have killed her…..'

'Sydney? Killed by that no-good trainer? I severely doubt _that_, my friend.'

Nigel flopped back against the wall, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. 'Maybe…but after everything…I daren't hope. If she wasn't dead…she'd have escaped…by now…she'd have found me.'

'I cannot believe that Sydney Fox is dead,' said Derek with a wry, humourless chuckle. '_You're_ still alive, aren't you?'

'Yes… but not for much longer. They're going to send me out into the arena tomorrow. I'm going to be killed. I know it.'

Derek frowned. 'It won't be pleasant, Nigel, but we'll survive. You're with Derek Lloyd, now. I've been out there one night and an afternoon, and I overcame everything they threw at me.'

'You've been in the arena?'

'Yeah. I was seized moments after that bitch Veronica sent me back. A whole legion of these soldier guys set upon me. I hadn't a clue where I was, or what anyone said, but I understood the Gladiator game well enough.'

'Yes, but you've got 'special ops' training, or whatever it is. And I'm not sure I can even walk right now, let alone fight or run away.'

Derek, still crouched in front of Nigel, was concerned: 'Why not?'

'My ankle really hurts. I've broken it a couple of times before and it took a kick today, somewhere along the line.'

'Somewhere along the line?' Derek began to wonder just how many beatings this boy had endured. 'Let me have a look.'

Nigel, not without encouragement, shifted himself out of the shadows and into a dusky patch of light.

'Ouch!' exclaimed Derek, registering the gash on the side of Nigel's forehead and the bruise below his lip before he even started on the rest of him. 'Where _doesn't_ it hurt? I see you have _not_ had a good day, my friend.'

'It's not been the best,' conceded Nigel. 'But at least I've still got all my teeth…' He flinched as Derek slipped up the shackles and squeezed his ankle, and then quickly wiped his face, making sure he'd removed any remnants of the tears. 'God, how humiliating,' he muttered.

'What is?' asked Derek, then added. 'I think you're okay. It isn't broken, just badly bruised.'

'That's something…oh, I mean, crying on you. Sorry. It won't happen again.'

Derek smirked. 'Nigel, you've been sold into slavery, badly beaten, told your best friend might be dead and that you're going to die horribly. _I've_ cried about much less.'

'My father wouldn't have said that,' replied Nigel mournfully. 'Ow!'

'Sorry,' said Derek, who had been examining the cut on Nigel's forehead. 'Your dad gave you all that 'stiff upper lip' trash, I bet? I've never understood why you Brits say that. After all, it's the bottom lip that wobbles first, isn't it? Anyway, I've got news for you, Nigel Bailey. Real men cry. Although, you'd be even more of a tough-guy if you collected stamps.'

Nigel almost laughed, although it sounded as a half-strangled sob. He remembered Syd telling him about Derek's unlikely hobby: 'I suppose that makes _me_ a real man…minus the stamps, of course.'

'In my eyes, most definitely,' confirmed Derek, slapping Nigel _very_ lightly on the shoulder. 'Anyway, I think you'll be able to pull off a fast hobble out there tomorrow. All we have to do is stick together and we'll be fine. Haven't you seen 'Gladiator'?'

This time Nigel did laugh. 'Yeah. Can I be Russell Crowe?'

'You'd be better off as his friend. You know, the guy who survives at the end? By the way, why are you chained up? They seem to only do that, when we're locked away like this, for a special punishment.'

Nigel groaned. 'I _am_ being punished. I seduced my master's daughter… well, not that I got much of a chance. I think she did most of the seducing! I was trying to get information to help find that bloody relic for Veronica, to get us home.'

Derek smirked. 'Seduced the master's daughter, eh? You _are_ a stud, Nigel. Was she a babe?'

'Not bad…' conceded Nigel. 'She was no Sydney, though.' The thought of Sydney brought Nigel back down to earth after his brief moment of relative mirth. He pushed a hand nervously through his hair. 'Oh God, what if they've hurt her, Derek?'

It was Derek's turn to groan, as he settled himself against the wall next to Nigel. 'Will you stop harping on about Sydney Fox? She is quite capable of taking care of herself. If I were you, I'd be angry she got _me_ into such a mess…again!' His tone was still good-natured.

'She's not the only one who's ever got me into bad situations,' retaliated Nigel. 'You kidnapped me, remember?'

Derek snorted. 'Yeah, I do recall. We had fun after a few beers, though, didn't we?'

'I think you're dodging the issue here, Derek. You knocked me off my bike.'

'You were cycling erratically.'

'What did you expect? I had a ruddy great Mercedes bearing down on me!'

Derek grinned, leaving Nigel unsure whether the Special Agent had conceded defeat, or not. However, Nigel found he no longer had the energy to pursue the debate. Yawning, he muttered: 'I'm so tired.'

'Sleep, then,' suggested Derek.

'I'm not sure I could,' murmured Nigel, his weary countenance conveying a different message. 'It's so cold and damp down here.'

Derek said nothing but shuffled a couple of inches closer, so the edge of their arms just touched. Nigel, now shivering, stilled himself for a moment, sensing the awkwardness of the situation. Then another wave of sleepiness hit him. Almost unconsciously, he snuggled in close, laying his head on Derek's shoulder, as the other man's arm slipped around him. Within minutes, feeling surprisingly warm and safe, he was asleep.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	7. Private Show

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

The crowd, although there were barely more than twenty of them, bayed as if there were thousands. A trumpet wailed. Somewhere, somebody held their breath.

At the end of the great chamber, where last night she and Nigel had had so much fun, stood Sydney Fox, prepped and ready for action.

She was clad in a tightly-trussed leather bodice, which covered her only from her cleavage to her thighs. Sydney had not been impressed by the design, thinking: 'Xena looked _way_ cooler than this. It looks like it's been designed by an ancestor of Madonna - in her conical braphase!' Despite her predicament, she had been quite excited by the costume possibilities and was now oddly disappointed.

She was much more pleased by her weapon: a sword, polished and sharp, flashing in the light. 'It's beautiful,' she had mused. 'It's the best Roman craftsmanship I've ever seen… if I can't bring this back, I'm going to have to hunt it some time…'

Reflections on the variable quality of the props aside, Sydney felt like a caged tiger just waiting for her moment to pounce. She'd spent the day in comfortable enough quarters, but each door had been guarded with a dozen armed soldiers. Each escape attempt, of which there had been several, had been foiled. Nobody would speak to her and, more to the point, nobody would tell her where Nigel was. The image of his face as he was dragged away had tormented her nearly to the point of madness. And now, seeing the man responsible, her blood boiled.

Agroitus, reclined on a couch at the opposite into the room, was feeling pleased with himself. He couldn't wait to see his new treasure in action, and seeing as there were no games at the arena arranged for tonight, he'd decided a private display would be a fine idea. He could show Sydney off to all the important people in the town, creating even more of a buzz for her first public appearance tomorrow.

It was certainly pleasing to Demetrius, who had been angry earlier when Agroitus had decided that he wouldn't sell Sydney to him outright, after boasting of her virtues, but display her only 'on loan.' Now, however, as the gladiator-trainer watched from the sidelines, he realized he would make a fortune in extra ticket sales anyway.

Then the music stopped. A man, brandishing a shield and spear, leapt at Sydney from the left. She twirled like a ballerina, blocked his blow, and struck. The challenger fell, injured not dead, but quite unable to continue.

Something tragic moved in Sydney's eye, but she had no time for compassion. Another combatant stepped from the right. This time, she leapt with the grace of a gazelle, avoiding a swipe at her legs. Landing crouched, she sprung, delivering a punch to the jaw, swiftly followed by a knockout high-kick.

The ritual was repeated, two, three, then four times, before the supply of challengers was exhausted. Then there was silence, until Agroitus deigned to honour her with a slow rhythmic clap. Others follow his lead, and the room resounded with the slap of hands. To Sydney, it was the clash of thunder, the toll of death. But not for her

The warrior princess had triumphed. But the fight was yet to begin.

…………………………

When the performance ended, Demetrius slipped away, rubbing his hands with glee. He had to plan how to pack extra people in the arena tomorrow night.

For Agroitus, however, there was one little problem. There was nothing that the randy Roman wanted more than to spend some time alone with this beautiful warrior. However, she was just a little bit _too_ dangerous. He was quite aware that she would take the first opportunity to break his neck. He didn't want to hurt her in any physical way; that might impair her performance. What he needed was some way to control her…

From his couch, he leant forward and beckoned Sydney, who was still standing in the middle of the room, ablaze with anger.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied two soldiers stepping out to disarm her. Pre-empting them, she threw her sword to the ground with a clatter. Her mind was calculating quickly. There were only eight soldiers in the room now, less than she'd been guarded by all day, and Agroitus had been using a small knife to cut his food that still lay near him. She might be able to pull something off. Taking a deep breath, she suppressed her emotions with her motto: 'go with the flow.' She stepped towards him slowly, almost casually.

'My dear, that was magnificent! But why did you not kill? It's obvious that you can, and my thumb would have been to the ground for all of those losers.'

'Newsflash, Agroitus: The only person in this room who deserves to die is you.' Her silky tones were laced with venom.'

Agroitus, wondering what on earth a newsflash was, laughed. The clapping had stopped, and their voices now cut through near silence. 'What was it your tragic little husband called you?' he asked with false cheer. 'Boudicea? I like it. Maybe I'll call you Boudicea, my warrior princess!'

With the mention of Nigel, Sydney's commitment to her plan faltered. She didn't want to do anything which might make it worse for him if he was still in Agroitus's power. Testing the ground, she said: 'You can call me what you'd like. You can even _do_ what you like with me. Just let him go.'

'Out of my hands, my beauty. I sold him. I meant to sell you… but I realised I could never part with a thing of such loveliness and talent.'

'That's a shame…' said Sydney, as plan A flew back into action.

She lunged, and in a swift, singular movement she seized the little pearl-handled fruit knife and pressed it up against Agroitus' throat.

'You're _very_ good, my beauty,' he wheezed.

'Get up or I'll do it, Agroitus!' With Sydney gripping the back of his robe, the patrician staggered to his feet. Three of the soldiers had drawn their swords, but Sydney pressed the knife closer. 'One step nearer, and I'll cut… then I'll kill you all. You know I could… ' The men glanced at each other, unsure what to do. Agroitus glowered, but gave no clear orders.

Sydney backed towards one of the exits, praying that there was no legion of guards outside. As she neared, however, a slight movement from the side of one of the pillars caught her attention. A young girl with caramel hair – Lydia – was standing there, her eyes wide with alarm. She was shaking her head, almost imperceptibly, but just enough for Sydney to catch her meaning. _Don't go that way_. Lydia's shifted her gaze to an open window. _Go that way_.

It had to be quick. Sydney released Agroitus with an almighty shove, and gave his backside a hefty kick that sent him sprawling unceremoniously across the floor. As the soldiers charged, she leapt for the window and dived out, landing with a roll. She ploughed through the beautiful, ornamental garden, pushing statues and urns behind her, covering her trail and confounding the soldiers who had climbed out after her. She then scaled the villa wall and ran like the wind.

………………………………

Sydney was fast, and already too far away from the Villa to hear Agroitus' screams of rage, as he dispatched soldiers, left and right, to find her.

This was not a man used to being bettered. When they did not come back quick and successful, he was livid. He now knew he had made a mistake in getting rid of the one thing he could use to control her. He dispatched one of his best lieutenants with clear instructions: 'you find the boy before she does and bring him here. _Then_ she'll come back.'

………………………………….

Nigel awoke to find himself lying on the cold ground, his head rested on a pile of rags, and his lower body covered by threadbare blanket. For a moment, he had not a clue where he was. Then the dull ache of his limbs, and the sharp throb of his ankle, prompted the memory of the previous, horrendous day, which washed over him, bringing with it a wave of anxiety.

'Derek?' Nigel's voice sounded as a small croak but, to his relief, it was answered by a voice very close by.

'I'm here. How are you doing?'

'I'm alright' lied Nigel, and began to push himself up into a sitting position. As each of his muscles crunched with pain, it took a moment for him to realise that there was no metallic clunk as he moved: the chains were gone.

Twisting to look at Derek, Nigel could see that the Special Agent was crouched just beside him, restlessly fiddling with a large, blunt nail that he had appropriated from somewhere or other. He was keenly eyeing the other inhabitants of the room, his steely stares obviously aimed at keeping them at bay.

Derek caught Nigel's confused expression regarding the chains. 'I broke those things off, earlier,' he said with a gesturing nod. 'I'm not sure it made me too popular with the locals,' he added. 'I had to negotiate to get something to pick the shackles with, and the blanket, but unfortunately I didn't know any words.' Nigel could picture the scene. Derek certainly knew how to use force to get what he wanted!

'I am amazed none of it woke you up. I was kinda worried.'

'Oh, I'm heavy sleeper,' rejoindered Nigel. 'Well, usually…' He recalled that there had been a few places on his travels with Sydney, where he hadn't got a wink, notably that 'Roma' tent with all those snoring men. But, back then, he hadn't had quite such a dramatic day to get over.

'Thank you, anyway,' said Nigel, rubbing his wrists, where the skin had become a bit sore. 'And thanks for last night. I know what you said, but I was still an idiot.'

'No - you - weren't,' articulated Derek emphatically. 'But if it helps, let's not talk about it again.'

Nigel nodded. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, but he did want to forget the tears.

'Hungry?' asked Derek, changing the subject. Nigel _was_ hungry, but he didn't quite feel like food. The relief of being found by Derek last night, and the subsequent outpouring of emotions, had been a bit like being drunk. Compared to how he had felt before, it had been absolute euphoria. Now it was the 'morning after,' he couldn't help thinking that things were still pretty bad. Ultimately, Derek couldn't save him. Unless a miracle - or Sydney - intervened, they would eventually be separated, and he would be killed. Or maybe they'd just feed him straight to the Tigers! What was the point of eating?

When Derek shoved a piece of dry bread in his hand, Nigel smiled wanly and pushed it back.

'No thank you. You have it.'

'Nah,' grinned Derek. 'Couldn't manage it. I feasted like a king this morning.' When Nigel hesitated, he added, tongue-in-cheek: 'You wanna start a fight about it?'

Nigel shook his head and popped a piece in his mouth. It was dry and gritty, and took some chewing before he could choke it down. He began to wonder why he ever wanted to know _anything_ about the Ancient World. Resorting to an Americanism, he decided 'it sucked.'

Derek could see that Nigel was despondent, and decided he had to do something about it. Frankly, he hadn't a clue how long he could keep on saving himself, let alone Nigel, but he'd realised soon enough that it was time to reinstate his old motto: 'kill or be killed.' Nigel, on the other hand, appeared to have resigned himself to the latter part of this mantra alone.

'Hey, chin up, Nigel,' said Derek, almost chirpily. 'Surely you and Sydney Fox have got out of worse spots than this?'

Nigel chewed contemplatively. He had always been the pessimist of the pair. Nevertheless, each time that he'd been convinced the end was nigh, such as when they were up to their neck in sand with the tide coming in, Sydney had been right: they _had_ survived. The worst time had been when he was locked in that madman's basement in Russia, believing she was dead. But she hadn't been dead. She was alive and, as ever, she'd got them out of there. Nigel said nothing. His thoughts never settled themselves into a reply, but the flicker of hope was rekindling.

As soon as Nigel had finished his un-appetising breakfast, and obliged Derek by consuming some revolting tasting water out of a dirty clay bowl, the Special Agent demanded that he got up and practiced 'his moves.'

Nigel was not keen. 'I don't really have any,' he admitted. It was true. Most of his 'moves' were made up on the spot, such as wacking someone over the head with a vegetable, or a sucker punch. It all seemed inadequate.

'Come on,' encouraged Derek, now standing over him and jumping from foot to foot, like a boxer limbering up. 'You must have picked up something from Sydney, after all those adventures.'

'I usually just let her get on with the fighting,' conceded Nigel. 'In fact, the best 'move' I can think of for later is still running away. So, if you don't mind, I'll save my ankle for that by not getting up right now.'

'Not good enough. You're going to have to fight.'

Nigel clutched his ankle and looked up petulantly, but Derek could tell the fake from the genuine. 'Get up, Bailey. Pouting might work with Sydney Fox but it won't do it for me.'

Nigel scowled and clambered up, taking Derek's proffered hand as help. Maybe he _had_ been exaggerating his discomfort, but only a little bit! Once on his feet, he felt kind of groggy, and it took a moment before the world stopped spinning and he could let go of Derek.

'Okay?' said Derek, concerned again.

'See? I wasn't pouting about nothing!' said Nigel indignantly, then quickly added, 'not that I was pouting…what do you want me to do?'

'Right,' said Derek, bouncing keenly and now scarily resembling Nigel's old P. E. teacher: 'Let's try this. I'll come at you like so… you block like this…then you strike right back like that.' As he spoke, Derek demonstrated with precision movements of his limbs, which swished through the air like lethal weapons. 'Got it?'

Nigel acknowledged him with an expression of studied comprehension. 'Okay…' Derek feigned a punch in Nigel's direction, at half the pace of before. Nigel, reflexes kicking in, ducked rather than blocked, and concluded by kicking Derek on the shin, with some determination.

'Ow!' The cry came from Nigel. The kick had left all of his weight on his bad ankle. He swayed and lost his balance, falling backwards onto the floor with an 'oomph.'

'Shall we give that another go,' suggested Derek, offering his hand again.

'It's no good, Derek,' said Nigel, resignedly. 'I'm not going to be good enough by this evening, and you know it.'

'I'm not having you giving up on me!'

'I'm not giving up, Derek. I just think I should play to my… strengths. I'm much better at running away, and seeing as I can't exactly, well, run, I think time would be better spent looking for some way to get out of here.'

'No can do,' said Derek, settling himself on the floor next to Nigel. 'Believe me, I've tried.'

'Yes, but I bet you haven't looked for any secret passages, hidden staircases, or mystic opening mechanisms. You'd be surprised how Sydney and I have found our way out of spots.'

'I'm sure I would,' laughed Derek. 'But, tell me, my friend, why should there be any hidden passages in an amphitheatre.'

'I know there's at least one hidden compartment,' conceded Nigel. 'And I sort of know where it is.' He informed Derek what he'd found out about where the relic was hidden.

'If we have to go down to the arena for training, which is likely, we'll pass one side of the lion's cage,' said Derek. 'It's within the sealed off area, so we can't be suspected of escape. I'll slip away and have a look.'

'Hadn't I better do that?' said Nigel. 'After all, this is the stuff I'm good at. I'll know what to look for. That repulsive slave owner said he wasn't going to bother training me much, anyway. I doubt I'll be missed.'

Despite reservations, Derek agreed, and the plan was set. At the first opportunity, Nigel was going relic hunting - and to search for an escape.

……………………..

On the other side of town, Sydney Fox was considering whether it would be bad practice to give a member of the Oxford historical faculty a good, hard kick to the head.

Having got over the shock of seeing Professor Bluthus, a face she recognised from books and conferences, back in the ancient world, she was becoming particular angry. He was deliberately withholding information from her. Whether it was from fear, guilt or wickedness, she could not yet tell.

Her demands to know where Nigel was were answered by an increasingly nervous 'Hhhhmmmm.'

'Okay, time's up, Bluthus,' growled Sydney, seizing the Oxford don by the front of his tunic. 'That sleazy trader told me that he sold Nigel to you. He also said Nigel was ill. If you don't tell me where he is, then I don't care what period we're in - I'm going to get mediaeval on you!'

Bluthus stared at her, openmouthed. After a second, Sydney realised he wasn't staring at her face, but down towards her chest. The cloak she had stolen as a disguise had slipped open, and underneath she was still clad in her dominatrix-style leather outfit from last night.

She gave him an angry shake: 'Bluthus! This is your last chance!'

Bluthus stopped drooling, shut his mouth, and began to talk. 'Yes, I bought Nigel, and he wasn't ill. That was just a genius plan of mind to get his price down,' Bluthus sighed, self-satisfied. 'Sometimes I surprise even myself by my brilliance.'

Sydney shook him again. 'Alright, Professor Fox, I'm getting to it. Anyway, he was in spankingly fine fettle when he got here…I'm not sure he was in quite such a good nick when he left, though.'

'Left? Where did he go? Was he hurt?'

'He got into a bit of trouble and, well, my master gave him a bit of a thumping and sold him to the arena, I'm afraid. I'm not entirely sure he could walk when they hauled him off…'

Sydney's heart thumped. Her poor, sweet, defenseless, Nigel! The thought of what they'd done to him, and what might have happened subsequently, made her feel physically sick.

'Why didn't you do anything?' Her voice cracked as she wrestled back the tears.

'I tried, I tried,' bleated Bluthus, genuinely worried that Sydney was about to murder him in cold blood. 'But what could I do? And what can you do? None of us can ever go back to the 21st century, you know? We can't risk the relic getting into the hands of that witch, Veronica. Nigel wasn't prepared to accept that and, as much as it is tragic that his life should be so short, maybe it's all for the best. Veronica could change the entire course of history. _Millions_ of lives could depend on it… '

Sydney, letting her grip of the professor slip, was at a loss for words. In the end, she said quietly: 'So that's how you justify your cowardice, is it?'

Bluthus began to blather nervously: 'Hhhmmm. Logically speaking, it's _your_ fault he's in trouble. Nigel would have been fine if he hadn't learnt such bad habits from you…you're a rash woman, you know?'

Sydney never even heard the end of this spiel. She was already running towards the amphitheatre.

………………………………..

Meanwhile, Demetrius was having an intriguing interview with an agent of Agroitus. With the help of a large team, the consul's henchman had traced the current whereabouts of Nigel rather quicker than Sydney had.

Fortunately, however, Demetrius was not one to be cowed into a quick sale when he spied moneymaking potential.

'So let me get this straight,' he barked at the agent. 'Agroitus's warrior princess has escaped, even though I have canvassed all over town that the daughter of _Boudicea herself_ will be on display in the arena tonight.'

The agent nodded sheepishly.

'And then, as a form of compensation, he offers me five hundred denari in return for one of my slaves. Granted, the one he wants is a useless little wretch, and I only paid ten for him, but five hundred is not going to make up what I will lose if I have a disappointed crowd tonight. Tell Agroitus, if he wants the slave, he needs to pay me at least _one thousand_ denari.'

The agent balked at this. 'I'm going to have to ask my master. One thousand denari is a lot of money.'

Demetrius dismissed him with the flick of his hand. 'Tell him I won't take a penny less!' The agent scuttled off.

'Interesting', thought Demetrius. He had worked out there must be some sort of link between Nigel and the warrior princess. After all, she fitted the description the slave had given him yesterday, which Demetrius had answered carelessly. He enjoyed telling slaves that their loved ones were dead, even if he hadn't a clue who they were talking about.

He realised that there was certainly some more moneymaking potential, here. If this young man was going to lure the warrior princess back to Agroitus, why shouldn't he lure her to him, Demetrius, at the arena, instead? If this failed, he even had a tenuous plan B: he could use the slave as a bargaining chip to get his hands on the treasure that it was rumoured Agroitus had hidden somewhere in the arena.

Musing on these possibilities, but mainly about the money he could make with the warrior princess in _his_ power, he stomped off to find Nigel.

**Aaaaargh! When I devised this story, it was going to be fun! It's gone seriously off the rails, in that respect… so, are you enjoying it? Should it be lighter? Please let me know.**

**I haven't written the next bit yet, but there should be more at the weekend.**

**Thanks for reading. Katy.**


	8. close encounters

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm very glad you're still enjoying it.**

**Warnings: violence, nastiness and cuddles.**

Nigel managed to slip away from the crowd quite easily, as they were herded down to the arena. Derek gave him a cautionary glance as he edged into the shadows, but nevertheless he was filled with a new optimism.

His ankle, now tightly bound up with rags, was holding up better than he'd worried it might. Moreover, he had convinced himself that, even if he couldn't escape, if he located the relic he might be able to use it – which would bring a reunion in Sydney into the realms of possibility. For the first time in a while, Nigel felt in control of his own destiny. Well, sort of.

He lurked in the shadows under a low archway until the others had disappeared into the arena. Then, after checking the coast was clear, he sidled down towards the lion's and tiger's cage, which completely blocked the walkway. This ensured that the gladiators could not pass into the area in which the public came in, and that they could not escape.

The contents of the cage were a sad sight. Five big cats were cramped into a tiny space, with barely enough room to stretch their once-muscular legs. What should have been fine beasts were so thin that you could see their ribs. Their fur hung loose, and a poor female tiger was licking a barely-healed wound on her paw.

Nigel's 21st-century sensibilities were appalled, and he wished he had something to give them to eat. Nevertheless, he daren't venture within a claws swipe of the cage: the moment his presence was sensed, all five growled ravenously and bore their fangs. He knew very well that they considered him a fine breakfast, and then remembered, with a gulp, that he could well be on the menu for dinner!

'Nice moggies,' he whispered and, from as close as he dared get to the cage, he began to look for clues.

To his dismay, he could spy nothing helpful on his side of the cage. The walls were blank stone, and there was no sign of any secret compartments. On the other side of the cage, however, he could see two protruding carved heads high on the wall. One was clearly supposed to represent a big cat, and the other appeared to be a wolf or dog. 'Don't touch the cat,' remembered Nigel from Anita's clue. 'Well, that's straightforward enough, but I can't touch the dog from here either.'

Fighting off a new wave of despondency, Nigel strained his eyes in search of something else. He was rewarded when, above the stone cat's head, he spotted the end of some sort of conduit that led from the direction of the arena. It wasn't large, but he thought he could just squeeze through. 'If I could climb through there,' he conjectured, 'I could have a better look…'

At that moment, his thoughts were interrupted by some shouting and scuffling, which seemed to be coming from where the gladiator's were training. 'I hope I haven't been missed,' thought Nigel, slightly panicked. He wondered if he could slink back in as un-noticeably as he had crept away. Clinging to his optimism, he figured that he could then find the opening of the conduit to the other end.

His hopes were thwarted when a gruff voice from behind bellowed: 'Oi! I think I've found it!'

An exceedingly large Roman guard was striding up the walkway towards him, a malicious grin on his craggy, scarred face.

A meaty hand reached out to grab him by the tunic but Nigel dodged it, with lightning reflexes that shocked even him, and fast-hobbled ahead into the arena. He was heartily sick of people dragging him around by his clothes: 'I've little enough on, as it is, 'he grumbled,' without them getting even more torn. I need _something _to keep me respectable!'

In the arena, all activity had stopped. Demetrius was standing in the middle, arms folded, and tapping his foot impatiently. When Nigel emerged through an archway, his face lit up with vindictive delight.

'Ah, there you are! I thought you might have made with some sort of nasty 'accident' during the night, although I'm actually quite pleased to see you in one piece. You were just hiding, were you, you little coward?'

'It was skulking around the beasts, master!' said the guard who had located him.

'It was, was it?' Demetrius looked thoughtful for a second. Agroitus was always sniffing around the lions and tigers, and he had already suspected that might be where the rumoured treasure was hidden. Maybe the slave knew something about that as well?

'Take the runt inside,' he ordered to the guard. 'We need to talk.'

Nigel's hope of survival was now sinking terminally into the sand beneath his bare feet, and he decided there was little to do but go with them. He was somewhat disconcerted when Derek, brandishing a wooden practice sword, dashed between him and the approaching guard and appropriated a defensive stance.

'He just wants to talk, Derek,' said Nigel, forcing himself to sound calm. Of course, he doubted that Demetrius really would just talk, but there was no point Derek getting in trouble as well.

Derek's voice was decisive. 'Tell them if they want to speak you, they'd better speak to me.'

'I appreciate the sentiment, Derek,' said Nigel. The guard had temporarily stopped his approach, perturbed by the turn of events. 'But seeing as you can't speak their lingo, I'm not sure it's going to help.'

Derek's reply betrayed a hint of exasperation. 'Then tell them if they want to talk to you, they'll have to _fight _me first.' He reasserted his aggressive pose, flourishing his inadequate weapon.

'Once again, I'm much obliged, and I'm sure you're very proficient with that wooden sword. But unfortunately, seeing as there are twenty men over there with real ones, I'm not convinced it's going to do much good.'

'Are you patronising me, Bailey?' Derek dropped his stance and turned slowly to Nigel. A desperate, almost hangdog look belied his dry humour.

Nigel gave a thin smile and shook his head, his hands raised in resignation. 'Maybe he does just want to talk, Derek,' he said quietly. 'It's not worth your dying for, is it?'

He cringed as the guard seized him by the tunic, hearing it tear again, but Nigel went without resistance. 'I'll be okay,' he mouthed to Derek, who threw down his sword in sheer frustration.

The Special Agent had never felt so powerless, so impotent. Like Sydney the day before, he couldn't suppress a cry of anguish as he was forced to watch hostile forces take Nigel away from him.

…………………………..

Nigel was taken to the dreary chamber in which Demetrius had given him the 'once-over' yesterday and the two of them were left alone. Demetrius paced predatorily around Nigel, examining him with increased curiosity.

Nigel hoped he'd been bought there because of something to do with Sydney, and he took some comfort in the fact that Demetrius had said that he was glad to see him in one piece. Nevertheless, he was dead scared, and took deep breaths, trying to stop himself shaking and, once again, maintain his dignity.

After what seemed like an eternity of pacing and leering, and the odd pinch and slap, Demetrius finally spoke: 'I've been offered a lot of money for you. Tell me why?'

'Because I'm just so good-looking?' suggested Nigel, cursing himself for the unstoppable sarcasm. It was hardly the time and place.

The big, wiry man narrowed his eyes pensively. It had crossed his mind yesterday that this slave was well-formed and somewhat pretty although, for gladiator-purposes, he had written him off as small and lame. Now his sordid mind began to form new ideas.

'You certainly have some sort of allure, don't you? You had that grunting goon throwing himself about the arena for you a minute ago - he clearly wanted you to himself - and now Agriotus Poccolus has made me an offer I nearly couldn't refuse. Tell me, does the consul want you because you'll entice back his warrior princess, or for himself?'

Nigel was shocked. He hadn't foreseen the suggestiveness of his impetuous words. Nevertheless, he guessed soon enough who the warrior princess was. 'Syd…I mean, the warrior princess…she's my wife.'

'Your wife?'

'Yes, my wife.' Repeating it made it seem comfortingly real and, in this world, it _nearly_ was. Nigel hoped that his revelation couldn't do Sydney any harm. He doubted it could make _his _situation much worse.

'Interesting.' Demetrius stopped pacing, and leaned in close to Nigel. 'Now tell me, where's the treasure.'

'The t..treasure?' Demetrius's foul, reeking breaths made Nigel feel sick. He began to back towards the wall.

'Yes. What were you doing poking around the lion's cage? Is that where Agroitus keeps his hidden fortune? Or is it some object of power, blessed by the Gods? '

Nigel knew he couldn't let on that they were after the relic and tried to put Demetrius off the scent. 'I was just hiding, like you said…and I was looking at the lions and tigers. Back where I come from, you can see such animals in places called zoos, and safari parks. Of course, these institutions raise lots of issues for animal welfare organizations. Indeed, I think the RSPCA would have plenty to say if they ever popped in here…'

Nigel stopped short when Demetrius clamped a chunky hand firmly around his throat.

'Where's the treasure?'

'Please,' gasped Nigel trying to pry away the iron grip, ' I can't breath…I…' Demetrius lightened his hold slightly.

'I don't know anything about the treasure… any treasure. Honestly. I'd say!'

Demetrius's attention was momentarily diverted by shouts and crashes that were coming from the walkway. He released Nigel, and went to the doorway. Nigel didn't move at first, but his heart leapt as he heard the holler of a familiar female voice.

'Nigel?'

'Sydney! Sydney! I'm here!!!'

'Nigel!' The affirming cry was followed by several clashes of steel, and a small, surprisingly feminine, cry.

'She's in trouble!' Nigel started towards the door, praying that Demetrius would forget him, move out, and let him past. Unfortunately, the gladiator-owner heaved the doorfirmly shut before Nigel could reach it, and then blocked the way.

'You can't let them hurt her!' shouted Nigel, 'please, call them off.'

Demetrius laughed darkly. 'Oh, they'll take care of her, alright. They know I want her in working order. And as for you…' Demetrius seized Nigel again, this time by his increasingly ragged tunic, lifted him bodily off the floor, and then slammed him roughly back against the wall.

Nigel was momentarily stunned, and Demetrius reveled in the scared confusion he detected in his victims light, hazel eyes. He laughed again, his own dark eyes flashing demonically. 'If you can't tell me about the treasure, I'm going to find out exactly what it is about you that everyone else finds so irresistable…'

There was an almighty crash on the door. Somebody was trying to break it in…

'Sydney!' Nigel kicked the redistricted Demetrius as hard as he could on the shin, forcing the gladiator trainer to drop him and raise his hand in anger. Nigel blocked the blow, just as Derek had shown him earlier, and gave him a vicious punch in the stomach.

The door flew open, and there, bloodied but not bowed, stood Sydney Fox.

…………………………………..

Sydney was immeasurably relieved to see Nigel in one piece, but she paused only long enough to take a sharp intake of breath. Nigel, still pressed against the wall, was rubbing his sore fingers, as he usually did after resorting to punching someone. His delighted cry of 'Syd!' went unanswered, as she observed that the results of his handiwork were fast wearing off.

Demetrius had straightened out and she saw him reach for a knife in his belt, while his other hand stretched for Nigel.

'Don't touch him, you bastard!'

The high-kick to the head was knockout, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Sydney and Nigel spoke at once:

'Syd, you're hurt!'

'Nigel, what did he do to you?'

By the time either of them finished their words they had fallen into the other's arms and sunk to their knees. Nigel squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in her familiar scent, feeling her silky hair against his face and basking in the solace of her tender embrace. He could have died right then, quite contented.

Sydney held him gently, eyes wide with concern: 'Oh, my darling,' she murmered.

While she was ecstatic he was still alive, the gash on his temple, the makeshift bandage on his ankle, his ragged apparel, and the other very obvious signs of beatings, left her wondering what harm had been done to him that she could not see. Moreover, she knew they could ill afford this precious moment. She'd fought her way in; she now had to fight both their ways out.

She drew away and, taking his hand, pulled him up with her: 'Nigel, we've got to go. Are you up to it?'

'I'm fine,' said Nigel dreamily, still musing on her calling him her 'darling.' This was a new one to him. While he supposed it had been brought about through sympathy, he still liked it.

Sydney clicked her fingers in front of his face. 'Nigel! Are you with me?'

Nigel blinked hard as the reality, which in all its hideousness he had temporarily blanked out, soared back into his memory. 'Yes! I'm fine. It's barely worse than…err,' Nigel racked his brain for their nastiest relic hunting near-misses. Nothing quite compared, so he changed the subject. 'What about your arm? It's bleeding.'

'It's just a scratch. Come on. Let's go!'

Sydney led Nigel out into the walkway. It was strewn with the unconscious bodies of guards, who she had hacked her way through. Unfortunately, however, their route to the exit was still not clear; voices and footsteps could be heard approaching.

Sydney grabbed a sword from one of the incapacitated soldiers, and handed it to Nigel who regarded it doubtfully.

'You with me, Nigel?' entreated Sydney. Nigel nodded, and then a flash of recognition crossed his face.

'What about Derek? We can't leave without Derek!'

'Derek Lloyd?' asked Sydney incredulously.

'He's here, Syd, they made him become a gladiator. He looked after me… without him I could be dead. We've got to save him!'

As six armed guards rounded the bend, Sydney, despite her drawn sword, began to doubt that she could even save herself. A villainous roar from the chamber indicated that Demetrius was awake, and more pounding feet could be heard thumping up the walkway in the opposite direction.

'Damn.' It was her turn to throw the sword down with a clatter. Even Sydney Fox realised she couldn't fight her way out through a dozen men, defend a more-than-usually bewildered Nigel from them, and then somehow fight her way back in to help Derek Lloyd – if she really must! She hated admitting it, but she was only human. Trusting in her powers of negotiation – and of escape later - she raised her arms in surrender.

………………………………………….

Sydney drove as hard a bargain as she could. Fortunately, Demetrius had a thumping headache and irritatedly conceded that he would let them both go tomorrow, and guarantee Nigel's safety today, if the 'daughter of Boudicea' put on the show of a lifetime for his gore-hungry punters tonight. He then slouched off to lie down.

Of course, Sydney did not trust his word, but she had bought them time, and that couldn't be a bad thing.

Ten minutes later, they were both locked in a large iron cage, similar to the one in which the big cats were kept. Nigel was there because Demetrius insisted: he needed a guarantee that the warrior princess would perform. Sydney was there out of choice.

'This is madness,' hissed Nigel, gratefully sinking to the ground and taking the weight of his injured ankle. 'You should be out there looking for the relic, or finding Derek.'

'I'm sure Derek Lloyd can look after himself for now,' replied Sydney, 'and the relic can wait. I need to make sure _you're _alright. You seem a little, well…traumatised.'

Nigel was flustered: 'I told you, I'm fine… maybe not quite up to batting for England…but, really, there's nothing more than you can see. Just a few bruises.'

'Will you stop protesting, Nigel, and let me look after you?' Nigel nodded, wide-eyed. He wanted that, as long as he didn't have to talk about being sold, wearing next-to-nothing in public, the beatings…and Demetrius. She knelt in front of him and lifted his ankle into her lap. With a touch so light that he could barely feel it, she refastened the bandages. 'Is that better?'

'Yes. Thanks.' He wondered how Sydney got to be so good at _everything_.

He let Sydney wrap her arms around him, pulling his head down onto her chest, as she had the other night. She gently pulled his hair away from where it had stuck to the cut on his forehead. Looking down, she murmured: 'it doesn't seem to be infected. I hope it doesn't scar. Does it hurt, Nigel? '

'A bit. Everything hurts at the moment. I don't care now you're here, though.' Sydney, glad he was finally opening up, felt him tentatively slip his arms around her waist. ' I thought you were dead…' he continued wistfully, 'that was worse than anything…I nearly gave up hope.'

Sydney stoked his hair. 'It must have been awful, Nigel…I should have been here…I'm so sorry.' She began choking back tears as she spoke, causing Nigel to pull away abruptly.

Her distress alarmed him. 'What is it? What did I say? I don't blame you, honest. Nothing bad happened. I keep saying…' He lifted his hand and wiped away the tears that were trickling down her cheeks. 'Please don't cry,' he whispered, ' I can't bear it. You'll start me off. I still can't forget the feeling…when I believed I'd never see you again… I wanted to die myself.' His own bottom lip quivered slightly.

Sydney sniffed and forced a comforting smile. 'Why have I never seen _you _cry, Nigel?'

Nigel cringed. 'Derek has… but I'd rather forget that.'

'Crying isn't a crime, Nigel. It's healthy. You should let your emotions out more.' She pulled him back into a hug and held him for a while, in silence. Nigel wondered if she expected him to cry and thus almost willed himself to do so. A solitary tear escaped, as he relived the horrific visions of her dead that had haunted him the night before, but he could manage no more. How could he reach such depths of despair when he was in her arms, even if it was in the middle of hell?

After a few moments, he ventured to ask: 'What's the plan, Syd?'

Sydney had been absorbing the gentle rise and fall of Nigel's breath as she held him to her, taking comfort in the heart she felt beat steadily in his chest and the warmth of his arms clasped around her. A pang of anxiety and of immense responsibility now hit her.

'Go with the flow' seemed woefully inadequate. What _was _the plan?

**Thanks for reading. Reviews much appreciated.**


	9. to hell

**Disclaimers: as ever. ****Thanks for the reviews to Tanya and Rosesbud (cute new name!)**

There was a long hush. Sydney silently ran through every possibility and turned up no certainties of success.

Nigel was listening to her heartbeat, as she had been treasuring his, and let it lull him almost to sleep. However, as he was on the verge of dropping off, his eyes flashed open. It had occurred to him that he hadn't even told Sydney about the 'progress' he'd had with the relic.

Sydney sensed him start. 'What is it, Nigel?'

He sat up, shaking himself a little, pulling himself together. 'I'm sorry, Syd, I don't know what's come over me. I was so caught up in myself… I haven't even told you what I know….oh my God!'

'What?'

Nigel's jaw dropped as he noticed her figure-hugging leather outfit, now uncovered. The fastening of her cloak had slipped open again.

'Oh, it's awful isn't it?' laughed Syd, 'I feel like I'm wearing Madonna's cast-offs!'

'It is rather, err, revealing. Although it's more like in that movie with Pamela And…' Nigel broke off. Did he really want to shatter his intellectual image by letting Syd know he'd seen _that_? 'Um…nevermind. Where on earth did you get it?'

'Present from Agroitus,' confessed Sydney. Nigel raised his eyebrows. 'Don't worry, I wasn't too thrilled.'

Sydney refastened the cape, hoping it would encourage Nigel to lie down against her again. She wondered if he knew that having him so close was as much a comfort to her as it was to him. Still, she asked: 'What do you know, Nigel?'

Avoiding the details of the price he paid for the initial information, he filled her in about the lion's cage, and the carved heads he'd seen on the far side.

'If we could only access it from the other side,' he suggested, 'I'm sure we'd be able to see a way to get at the relic. And maybe it could help us get out of here… and Derek. '

Sydney frowned thoughtfully. 'If I could persuade Demetrius to let you out while I'm in the ring, do you think you might be able to get in, climb down the conduit from the arena if you have to?'

'Maybe,' said Nigel uncertainly, 'but wouldn't it be better if you did it _before _this evening? Then maybe we can get out of here without you having to go on.'

Sydney shook her head. 'Even if I could escape with you this afternoon, I've no idea how we're going to help Derek. I've got a hunch that I have to go out there tonight. If somehow I can get the crowd on my side, or create enough confusion, all three of us might have a chance, _and _we can get the relic.'

Nigel felt very uneasy about this. Even in her outrageous outfit, Sydney seemed strangely fragile right now, particularly with the bleeding scratch on her arm and the unfamiliar anxiety drawn on her face.

'I hate the thought of you having to fight for the baying, jeering crowd. What if you're given faulty weapons, tricked or…what?'

Sydney leapt to her feet. Demetrius had rounded the corner of the walkway, and was fast approaching the cage with a still-pained grimace on his face. Detecting his former persecutor, Nigel stayed where he was on the floor, staring intently at the ground and avoiding all eye contact.

'What do you want, Demetrius,' growled Sydney. 'The show will go on. Isn't that enough?'

'Too right, it will go on, Boudicea! And seeing as you promise me _one _night only, I want my money's worth. There's going to be swords, spears, bows and arrows, chariots, lions, tigers, and recreations of realhistorical battles! I need you out there to practice – now!'

Sydney, reluctant as he was to leave Nigel, realised that this made some sense if she was to survive. 'Alright,' she agreed. 'But you let my husband go as soon as I'm in the ring tonight. Once I'm out there, I can't run away, so there's no need to hold him.'

Demetrius snorted as he unlocked the cage. 'You forget that he is my property. I can do what I like with him…'

This time, it was Sydney's hand that clamped down hard around Demetrius's neck. 'That wasn't the deal. If anyone as much as _breaths_ on him, I won't lift a finger out there tonight. In fact, you might find me gone…and then you're the loser. He goes free the moment the show starts this evening'

'Fine,' choked Demetrius.

Sydney released him, knowing the dangerous game she was playing was weighted all too heavily against her.

…………………………………………..

Nigel was indeed left alone - for a very long time. He listened to various, intriguing and sometimes alarming crashes and shouts coming from the arena. On one or two occasions, he was sure he heard Sydney shout or cry out. Mainly, however, the hours dragged by with just the distant noise of confusion, juxtaposed with his own thumping heartbeat, and eventually, the sound of his stomach. Nobody brought him any food all day.

At great length, Nigel heard more footsteps and voices, this time coming in hundreds and thousands. Once again, none of them came too near; he realised that it must be evening, and the show was imminent. He wished he could curse each one of those horrid spectators individually: how dare they come to see his Sydney, and laugh and point as she fought for her life.

Tired of leaning against the uncomfortable bars, he curled his arms around his knees, hugging them to him as a poor substitute for Sydney, and buried his face in them. In the blackness, all he could see was her, standing alone, marauding hordes descending upon her with swords, axes and bludgeons. Praying to whatever deity would listen, he willed her to win, willed her to survive.

Thus, he did not see a guard approach, and only looked up in surprise as he heard the large key grind in the lock.

Nigel backed up quickly against the bars, expecting only the worse of the large man he saw with the keys. The guard, however, simply held the door open and said, 'off you go, then.'

Nigel stared at him. 'I can go?'

'Yes. She won't go out there until she sees you, so you'd better hurry.'

Nigel would have jumped to his feet and ran, but in the circumstances the best he could do was to pull himself up using the bars and limp over to the door. The guard, who hadn't expected the famed warrior princesses 'husband' to be so boyish, pale and ragged, surveyed him with some sympathy. 'Had a few quarrels, lately?' he asked jovially.

'A few,' replied Nigel, 'but you should have seen the other guys!' The guard chuckled, and Nigel quietly congratulated himself on having met a Roman who was actually nice. Maybe there was hope for the Ancient World yet!

………………………………….

When Nigel approached the edge of the arena, the action had not yet started, but the atmosphere had already built to a near-frenzy. The stands were packed way beyond anything permissible by 21st century health and safety standards, and punters were still scrumming their way in. Three rows of people were standing on each of the stone flagged levels that were supposed to accommodate just one. Trumpets were wailing and drums were beating. This had been billed as a night to remember, and the whole city of Nevium was there.

The guard helped Nigel push his way through the smelly, boisterous crowd and into a private box, the front of which was currently veiled from the arena and the rest of the punters by plush red curtains. There, wearing her leather fighting gear, which was now decorated with a few tastefully placed jewels, was Sydney.

'Syd!' Nigel flung his arms around her. 'You can't do this. There must be another way. We've got to get out of here.'

Sydney was queerly unemotional, although her eyes were sad: 'You're okay, Nigel?'

'This isn't about me, it's about you.' He turned to the guard, who was embarrassedly looking the other way. 'Please, you can help us to get out of here…'

The guard confessed that he couldn't: 'I've got a wife and children. I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk it. Demetrius would kill them.'

'Too right he would,' came an ominous growl. Demetrius stepped out from behind the curtain. 'As it is, you're dismissed, so they can starve instead!'

As the guard scuttled off, and the trumpets blared louder than ever, Sydney clasped Nigel to her and kissed him. 'Go find it, Nigel,' she whispered, her voice muffled in his hair, and she slipped a small dagger, which had been concealed in her outfit, into his hand.

Betwixt his general dismay, Nigel could not help wondering where on earth Sydney had found space to hide a dagger in _that _outfit. She really was a woman of many talents!

Moving in front of Nigel while he clumsily hid the weapon behind him, Sydney turned to Demetrius with a look that could have cracked diamonds, and said 'Let's go.'

'Yes, Let's go. _All_ of us.'

Sydney looked perplexed. 'What do you mean. My husband goes free or I don't perform.'

Demetrius cackled. 'I have an odd notion that you will perform even better out there, if you have something to fight for, someone to defend. Of course, you can _both_ try and escape, but I think you'll find your chances are no better than they were earlier. There are six of my best guards behind that curtain…'

Nigel, overcome by the horror of Demetrius' suggestion, and failing to find anywhere to hide it in his scanty clothing, accidentally dropped the dagger to the floor. Demetrius, seeing the weapon, gave another chortle.

'I see you've armed him, you sneaky wench, so I won't have to bother. I'm loath to send him out there in such a tatty outfit, but somehow, it goes with the image of the lamb to the slaughter, doesn't it?'

Sydney slapped him. 'Newsflash Demetrius: The only person dying tonight is you.'

Demetrius, still caught up in his mirth, although with no better idea of what a 'newsflash' was than Agroitus, drew back the curtain and pointed the way down to the arena. 'Let's go, my pretty friends.'

………………………………………….

'Sydney, I'm dead!'

As they made their way to the centre of the arena in front of the whistling and jeering crowd, Nigel decided it wasn't even worth trying to stop himself shaking. She _knew _he was terrified.

'No you're not, Nigel,' Sydney's rejoinder was confident, despite the dread she felt in the pit of her stomach. 'And you won't be if you just stay with me. I know what's coming – I've been rehearsing this carnage…I mean, performance…all afternoon. '

'What's coming, then?'

'Well first we have some guys in a chariot. They're going to throw some spears at us, and I'm going to swing at them with my broadsword. Just duck.'

'Okay…' Nigel wrapped him arms around himself, as if already appropriating a protective stance against the flying missiles.

'Then I'm going to get a horse…'

'But I'm allergic to horses…'

'Nigel!'

'Sorry…'

'Then I'm going to get to ride a horse and fight off the Roman legions in a recreation of Boudicea's victory over Petillius Cerialis near Colchester.'

'You're going to slaughter 70,000 Romans?' Nigel knew his Tacitus.

'God, I hope it won't come to that…at least I'm supposed to win.'

'Yes…that's something. But who am _I _suppose to be?'

Sydney had no time to answer. The trumpets sounded a fanfare and the hostile chariots pounded in. She stepped purposefully in front of Nigel, reaching back briefly to squeeze his hand encouragingly before placing her own on the hilt of her sword. The action was beginning.

………………………………………….

The first part of the 'entertainment' went perfectly to plan. The chariots thundered around them in circles, hurling spears only roughly in Sydney and Nigel's direction. They had to evidently been instructed _not _to aim to kill - it was far too early in the evening for the star of the show to bite the dust!

Dodging from side to side, Sydney was becoming increasingly worried about Nigel. He had dropped his only weapon and was having difficulty keeping up with her. Running was clearly causing him a lot of discomfort. By the time their opponents were out of spears, and she was able to approach the chariot for a bit of arm-to-arm combat, Nigel had slumped down against the side of the arena, gasping for breath and clutching his ankle in pain. The crowd were already jeering and throwing rotten fruit in his direction.

'Come on, Nigel,' she willed him, under her breath. 'This is only round one…'

As the first comers departed in defeat, she ran over and handed him back the dagger. When he didn't stir himself, she hauled him to his feet, and brushed off the remnants of the fruits that had hit him. The red juice looked disturbingly like blood on the remains of his tunic.

'Syd, I can't do this…I can't run. My ankle…it hurts too much…'

'Then you've got to get on the back of the horse with me. I'm sure you can ride a bit… and I don't care how much you sneeze.'

A beautiful white steed galloped into the ring, as the crowd cheered. Sydney whistled and it cantered over, as obedient as a dog.

'She's a good girl.' Sydney patted the animal on the nose. 'She won't throw us… not if we galloped through hell and back. Come on.'

Nigel still looked doubtful. 'If you can only get me over the other side of the arena, I might be able to get out through the conduit, like we planned. Maybe we could both escape through there?'

Sydney severely doubted this was possible, at least for her, in front of the guards, the rabid crowd and the assaulting legions, but smiled and nodded nonetheless. 'Good idea. I'll see what I can do.'

She helped Nigel onto the back of the horse, and then mounted in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies melded close together. This time, the heart-beats they felt in each other's chests were far from steady: both soon raced as one, fuelled by adrenaline, uncertainty and fear.

The trumpets blared again and, this time, two-dozen men ran out to greet them. Some were on horses and others were armed with broad swords. More still had bows and arrows, or spiked balls on chains that they swung menacingly. Sydney felt Nigel clasp her even tighter and bury his face in the back of her shoulder.

For once, Sydney's emotions overruled her candour: 'I love you, Nigel.'

Her voice sounded strange, as if it were not her own. Yet it rang truer than she had ever known.

'I love you too, Syd,' he whispered. 'Is this the end?'

………………………………….

Sorry that was a bit of a short chapter, but I'm a busy girlie this week. Besides, I had to completely rewrite the second half because I to tried a version in which Nigel was particularly heroic, but it didn't work out! We'll both try again in the next chapter. Should he survive…

**Of course, reviews inspire me greatly and can influence all outcomes. Review me please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	10. and back?

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for all the reviews.**

**Warning: some nastiness and violence, but mainly in the first half of this chapter. It perks up towards the end. My promise to Rosesbud still holds: 'nothing beyond repair!'**

………………………………………………

Round two kicked off at a gallop.

Sydney, swallowing her fear, cried 'Gee up girl,' and urged forward her steed to greet the enemy. As six men on horseback bore down on them, she hacked her way through the two leaders of the pack, swinging her sword on her right and unseating the aggressor to the left with a well-aimed kick. She then grabbed his broadsword as he tumbled to the ground.

She was now armed on both sides, and spun her weapons menacingly, enticing the enemy on. 'You want it, boys?' she cooed, 'you better come and get it?'

Her whisper to Nigel, as she glanced over her shoulder, betrayed a very different emotion. 'Hang on in there, Nigel. Do you want the other sword?'

Nigel shook his head. 'You handle them better. I'll have number three… and do you really have to flirt with _them_? They're trying to kill us! '

'And _I'm _trying to save us…trust me, Nigel.'

The conversation was cut short as a monster-sized gladiator, with his face concealed behind the visor of a featureless metal helmet, came thundering towards them on a mount the size of a shire-horse. In one hand was a beautifully embellished blade, long, curved and more like a mediaeval Saracen-sword than a Roman weapon. In the other, he grasped a crude wooden bludgeon that wouldn't have looked out of place in the hand of Stone Age man.

'Hold on, Nigel!' He assistant clung on desperately as Sydney reared her horse, its front two legs rising majestically in the air. As the animal landed, it's force transferred to the smash of her sword, which shattered the Saracen blade into a thousand pieces.

A smaller being would have been knocked from his horse by the blow, but the sheer strength of the helmeted man held him fast, as his frightened horse whinnied. The crowd cheered. They'd loved the 'move', and now they wanted some blood.

The monster raised his bludgeon, and Sydney met his blow. Unfortunately, it did not take the force of a rearing animal for a man of that size to hit with great might. This time it was Sydney's sword that snapped in two.

Nigel, who was now practically hanging off the other side of the horse for protection, saw Sydney swipe with her other sword in uncharacteristic vain. He did not hesitate. As the thug raised his bludgeon for another blow, Nigel pulled himself over and slashed his dagger straight across the man's side, where his breastplate did not reach.

Nigel recoiled as he saw blood splatter. The crowd cheered and their jeering voices echoed up to the heavens as the big man roared.

It was not a killer blow, but Nigel's help gave Sydney a chance to renew her attack on their assailant with her sword, which the monster almost inadvertently dodged as he swayed in pain. Angered, he raised the bludgeon again. This time, Sydney was not his target. He brought it swinging across before she could react, slamming Nigel in the midriff and sending him flying from the horse.

'Nigel!'

Out of the corner of her eye, Sydney could see him lying on the sand, apparently unmoving. She jabbed with a renewed ferocity at the perpetrator of the crime. Her raw aggression won through as the helmeted monster soon toppled, bloody and defeated, from his ride.

The crowd howled in admiration as Sydney's soul cried out in anguish. She could not help Nigel: no less than six more challengers were descending upon her and the best thing she could think of was to cantor away so he would not be crushed by the pummelling hooves.

Suppressing the onslaught of tears, she raised her sword, and with a guttural scream, she charged once again into the fray.

……………………………………

From the now un-curtained box, Demetrius and Agroitus were enjoying the show, despite carrying on a heated argument.

'You stole her from me! I should have this whole place shut down!'

'You wouldn't,' cackled Demetrius. 'You enjoy it too much! Besides, you never paid a penny for her. She was never really _yours_.' He leant in confidentially, so even the consul recoiled from the hideous gladiator-owners proximity. 'I, on the other-hand, paid several good denari for the husband, and she came to me _willingly_…well, sort of.'

'And now the boy's going to be killed and neither of us will be able to tame her! Why on earth did you send him out there with her? I offered you 500 dinari for him!'

Demetrius gave his dark laugh again. 'Ah, but it makes for a fine show, doesn't it? She fights like a wounded vixen defending her cub! I've never seen so much passion in the ring. And I think you're wrong. If he dies, she'll be _much _more easily broken…'

Agroitus shrugged and pointed to Nigel, lying prone on the sand. 'Is he dead already? Right now he looks even limper than my wife….and _you're _pretty spineless, aren't you dear?'

Here he nudged a long-suffering woman, her face concealed by a thin fabric veil, whose seat was placed a little back from his own. As usual when watching the games, she had her eyes tightly shut, in denial of the horrors in which her husband revelled.

Now, however, she opened them, to rest her gaze pitifully on her fellow object of scorn. Brimming over with hatred for her spouse, she vowed to make an offering for the poor, young husband of the 'warrior princess' on the altar of her favourite Goddess.

…………………..

Nigel was not dead. He had blacked out briefly with the impact of the blow, and now he lay slumped on his side, his senses consumed by the fireball of pain that ravaged his middle.

He wanted to call out to Sydney, but his breath hitched in his throat as he tried to inhale. His stomach contracted, causing his whole body to jolt, and he feared he was going to be sick. Having had so little food, though, the best he could do was choke.

After a minute the worst of the agony passed. He eased himself over onto his back and levered himself up on his elbows so he could see what was going on.

The action was taking place chiefly over the other side of the ring. Sydney, who had somehow managed to commandeer a long spear and one of those nasty spiked balls on chains, was valiantly swinging and stabbing. Currently, she was holding at bay around a dozen encircling attackers. Nigel knew it was only a matter of time before she was overpowered.

He began to choke again, a process that racked his whole body. This time he noticed that his hand which, never forgetting his manners, he had raised to cover his mouth, was covered with blood.

'Oh God! Not the teeth!' He ran his tongue around his mouth and confirmed that all were present and correct. He then wiped the blood on his tunic and decided it was the least of his worries.

Glancing the other way, Nigel could see that the conduit, through which he had intended to escape, was now a crawl-able couple of metres away. It would be an effort, but he could make it, without even putting any weight on his ankle, which had been done no favours by the fall. But what was the point?

Nigel's thoughts were despondent but clear: 'if Sydney is dying in this hell, what's the point of me surviving it? They'll kill me soon enough and I'm already half-dead…'

A dozen more armed men poured into the arena, dressed in leather tunics and what looked like blue masks. Nigel slumped back onto the ground and waited for the inevitable.

Most of the newcomers ran straight in the direction of Sydney, and Nigel cursed them under his ragged breath. A solitary blue-faced figure, however, stopped in his tracks and scanned the arena. On spotting Nigel, he sprinted towards him.

'This is it…' thought Nigel, but found he could not just lie there to be slaughtered. He curled over onto his side again, covering his head with his arms. The whole world shook as the trembling of his body merged with the thundering vibrations of the arena floor.

Rather than the killer rap, however, a gentle hand enfolded one of his wrists, while another eased him up until his upper body was cradled in a muscular pair of arms.

The face was painted blue – blue??? – but it was still unmistakable.

'Oh, God, Derek! We're going to have to stop meeting like this.' Nigel used the hand that Derek wasn't holding to wipe his face for any traces of tears, and began to cough. 'Can't you turn up in a nice English country pub or something' – cough – 'we could have few pints'- cough – 'why are you blue?'

'SShhh.' Derek, anxiously glancing between Nigel and the scene of the battle, wondered if his friend was delirious. 'It's okay, Nigel, I'm going to get you out of here…'

'You can't! You've got to help Sydney.' He coughed again. 'Why _are _you blue?'

Derek looked perplexed. He clearly didn't know the answer, which suddenly occurred to Nigel.

'Oh…you're the Ancient Britons!' - cough - 'They went into battle in nothing but blue wode' – cough – 'Does that mean those guys are helping her?'

'Yeah. I _think _that's the plan. From what I can figure out, Demetrius wants this show to go on all evening, and he can't have her defeated yet.'

'Thank God for the cavalry…' murmured Nigel. 'You'd better get over there and help them.'

Nigel began to cough again, this time at some length. Derek, who had noticed that Nigel's breath was laboured even when he wasn't choking, was increasingly worried about his condition. While Sydney Fox still wielded her sword with vigour he had no intention of leaving Nigel to help her.

'SShhh,' he repeated, hugging Nigel until the fit passed. 'Do you think you can walk, my friend?'

'I can crawl.' Nigel made a concerted effort not to cough again. 'And I'm going to go over there to get the relic…' He pointed to the conduit. 'And you're going to go over there and help Sydney.'

Derek shook his head decisively. 'I won't leave you, Nigel. You're hurt.'

'I'm fine, really. I just took a blow from some Neanderthal with a ruddy great bludgeon and I've not quite got my breath back, yet.' He waved his hand dismissively as he suppressed yet another cough. 'I'll be fine in a minute.'

'Is that your blood on your tunic?'

'No, its mainly soft fruits,' replied Nigel. 'Some of it _is _blood but it belonged to that same big guy…I bested him you know!' Nigel smirked, and hoped his affected bravado would prevent Derek from noticing him surreptitiously rubbing off more of his own blood from his hand. At the same instant, he caught sight of Sydney again.

'Derek! You've _got _to go. She needs you!'

As Derek looked over, he could see why Nigel was suddenly more alarmed. Sydney was struggling as hostle warriors closed in around her. She was shouting desperate instructions at the men she'd discovered were helping her, but they were not the arena's best combatants. She needed another good fighter on her side and she needed him now.

Nigel resisted as Derek tried to raise him to his feet.

'Umm, not just yet,' he suggested. 'I'll be okay in a minute…' Nigel clamped his hand over his painful stomach and looked up at Derek pleadingly. 'She needs you Derek… and I'm heading straight through that conduit. Honest. Just go!'

A female scream cut through the air and Derek, although torn in two, obeyed Nigel's wishes.

…………………………………………….

As Derek ran over, Sydney had just performed an impressive back-flip from a standing start in the stirrups of her horse. It was a last ditch attempt to overawe her enemies with her amazing physical prowess.

Landing like a gymnast at the Olympics, she viciously elbowed two attackers who came at her from behind, and exclaimed: 'Derek Lloyd! I was wondering when you were going to turn up.' Noting the blue wode, she added 'I like the make-up!'

'Sydney Fox!' said Derek, cracking the skulls of two floundering axe-men together. 'We meet again. Need some help?'

'Yes. Find Nigel!'

'Found him!' said Derek, drawing a mangy-looking sword and getting down to business.

'And you left him alone?' shouted Sydney accusingly, and then yelled at her men. 'Form a line. Hold together. Do anything!'

She never saw the hurt expression on Derek's face, but heard his mortified words. 'You always think the worst of me, don't you, Sydney? I didn't _want _to leave Nigel…' He paused as he kicked yet another covert attacker, then added. 'He _asked _me to help you. He's okay…' Derek hoped he'd concealed the note of uncertainty in his voice. 'He escaped over there.'

Derek indicated with his head, as he engaged in a sword duel. Sydney saw a pair of bare feet disappear up the conduit, and gave a sigh of relief. Nigel must be okay.

'Now, Professor Fox, shall we Ancient Britons defeat the invading Roman legions? Between us we could be a formidable fighting machine?'

Derek had fought his way over to stand at Sydney's back, and they were close enough together to feel each others body-heat and hear the others panting. Their opponents, who had previously sniffed victory, backed off as the two best fighters made their stand together. Sydney's blue-faced band were reinvigorated by the sight.

Sydney gave a humourless laugh that sounded to her enemies as a predatory growl. She hollered newly confident instructions to her men and then beckoned her enemies on: 'Wanna come and get me _now_, boys?'

At last, this was a battle that she knew she could win.

…………………………………….

As Nigel reached the end of the conduit, he was faced with a dilemma. The opening into the walkway was well over a metre above the ground. He did not fancy another tumble, this time from an even greater height than he had fallen from the horse. Having wriggled through headfirst, he had absolutely no idea how he was going to get down without doing further damage to himself.

He had little time to ponder this problem, as he heard approaching footsteps and a familiar, flabby face puffed around the bend.

'Professor Bluthus!'

'Nigel!' The Oxford Don, who had been snooping around the amphitheatre looking for the Eye, was genuinely surprised: he'd assumed Nigel was dead. Nevertheless, he was not unhappy to see him alive, even if he was, for some curious reason, stuck up a large drainage pipe.

'Nigel! Oh… I was so anxious about you! I came here to look for you.'

'Really?' said Nigel sceptically, but he smiled politely. 'That's most kind. Now you've found me, professor, do you think you could possibly help me down, please?'

'How?' asked Bluthus, disliking any request for physical exertion.

'Well, I don't really want to knock my teeth out on the stone floor - it's an increasing miracle they're all in tact as it is – so would you be so kind as to stop me from falling, please?'

'Hmmmmmm,' rumbled Bluthus. 'I couldn't catch you, Nigel. I might strain my back.'

'Well, what am I supposed to do then?' moaned Nigel, now exasperated. 'Look, I know where the relic is… I _assume _that's what you're really looking for? If you help me down – _please! _- we can find it together.'

'Hmmmm!' Bluthus rumbled grumpily, but he helped Nigel all the same, taking his former pupil's weight on his shoulder as he squeezed out of the conduit. He was rather nonplussed when, as soon as he stopped supporting him, Nigel flinched in pain, flopped against the wall, and slipped down until he was sitting on the floor.

Indeed, now Bluthus could see the full physical state of his former undergraduate, he was rather shocked.

'Good heavens, Nigel! What a mess you've made of that tunic I gave you!' When Nigel stared up at him, not quite in disbelief, he added: 'You look even worse that you did at that 9am tutorial the morning after the Junior Common Room Party.'

'I don't feel quite _that _ill today,' muttered Nigel, not untruthfully. 'Now, if you've finished with the lecture, Professor Bluthus, can we find this relic please? Sydney is fighting for her life in the arena, and an omniscient Eye is not going to do our campaign any harm, is it?'

…………………………………..

In the ring, the tide had turned. Sydney and Derek had rallied their troops, and led a heroic charge against their now dispirited enemies, who were scattering in disarray. Sensing triumph, Sydney remounted her beautiful, white horse and galloped around the edge of the ring. With her sword raised in victory, and her jet-black hair flowing gracefully behind her, she whipped the already frenzied crowd into a collective ecstasy. Only Agroitus and Demetrius remained in their seats, not displeased, but unsure how to deal with this unprecedented success. They could hardly put their thumbs to the floor for such a popular winner.

Derek stood in the centre, his arms raised in the air. He bellowed animatedly in a language that nobody understood: 'Are you not entertained? Are you _not _entertained?' Despite his subsequent bazaar ravings about being called 'Maximus,' the mob loved him and Derek had rarely felt so exhilarated.

As the atmosphere reached its peak, Sydney pounded over and yelled above the row: 'Enjoying yourself, Derek Lloyd?'

'It's been a blast, Sydney - my adventures with you always are - but we need to….'

'…get out of here?' Sydney completed what she thought was his sentence, although Derek was going to say 'find Nigel.' Still, he assumed the two meant the same thing: Sydney would never leave without her assistant.

'Another battle, then?' The exit from the arena was still blocked by heavily armed by guards.

'No,' said Sydney. 'I've got a better idea.'

She jumped down off the horse, giving its nose a thankful pat, and whistled for the attention of her rejoicing foot-soldiers. She then shouted instructions and they hoisted her and Derek onto their shoulders and carried them back around the ring for a final victory lap.

She gestured wildly at the clamouring audience, entreating them to come down and celebrate with them. As the front rows began to pour into the arena, Derek understood the plan perfectly, and urged them on as well.

Soon, hundreds of partying spectators were surging around them like the sea. The deluge swept the guards before them like driftwood and Derek and Sydney were carried from the arena.

……………..

As they reached the outer walkways, Derek and Sydney had to struggle hard to extract themselves. Once off the shoulders of the crowd, they were foisted together in the crush, their bodies clashing into an inadvertent embrace.

Both were still high on the flow of adrenaline, their breathing deep, and their hearts racing. His sparkling blue eyes met hers.

'It was quite a rush, wasn't it, Sydney?'

'It was…' whispered Sydney. She moistened her lips as they lingered dangerously close to those of the Special Agent. His silly make-up had melted away with the sweat of his exertion. Fresh from the fight, she found him startlingly handsome.

Sydney checked herself, and her lust turned to aggression. 'Trust you to have enjoyed yourself out there, Derek! We have to find Nigel. I still can't believe you just deserted him.'

'That's not fair, Sydney,' came the hurt rejoinder. 'I care about Nigel. He's my friend. And I care about _you_.'

His arm slipped around her waist as he attempted to guide her through the crowd. His touch renewed her frisson of desire. 'Don't tell me you didn't _feel _it out there, Sydney,' he said softly. 'The cries of the crowd, the thrill of the battle…' Sydney knew she would be lying if she denied it, so she said nothing and pulled herself away.

'Let's find Nigel, Derek.'

Derek nodded over the head of a couple of joyfully agitated children who had pushed between them. 'Okay. Let's go.'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	11. relic hunting

**Disclaimers: as ever. Thanks for the reviews!**

**As some of you know, I've been having a crisis of conscience about this story! The next one is going to be all sweetness and light and lots of nice things will happen to Nigel. Honestly. I'm basically a good person...please, please believe me!!!!**

**Then again, you've come with me this far...**

**So, on with the show!**

…………………………

Demetrius and Agroitus were not terribly pleased to see their 'warrior princess' sailing from the arena on a wave of adulation. Both rose urgently from their seats, demanding action from any guards and soldiers they could find. None could stay the flow of the crowd.

Neither had noticed Nigel escape, and they were at a loss as to know what Sydney would do next. Demetrius suspected that she had found herself a new man anyway, thinking that she'd looked awfully attached to the 'grunting goon,' and he to her.

Agroitus, however, had an inkling where Sydney might be heading: to find _his _precious relic.

'You make sure she doesn't leave the arena,' he barked. 'I'll…I'll make sure she doesn't come back and look for the husband.'

Demetrius narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering if Agroitus was going to go poking around the tiger's cage again, checking on his 'treasure'. 'I think I should come with you,' he suggested, trying to sound well-meaning. 'Your men can make sure she doesn't leave. I can't have the consul of Nevium attacked by that madwoman, or eaten by the beasts, now, can I?

Agroitus frowned, but conceded his companion had a point. The 'warrior princess' had already bettered him once, and apprehending her would never be easy. Demetrius was a formidable warrior – good to have on his side - and if he found out about the Eye, so be it. The gladiator-owner knew nothing of its power, and Agroitus hoped money would buy obedience in this case, even if it hasn't brought him back his beautiful wildcat.

'So be it.' He affirmed. 'Follow me.'

…………………………………….

Nigel repeated the clue that Anita had given him to Bluthus:

'The entrance is behind the lion's cage, you must mind where the water sloshes, and you mustn't touch the cat.'

'It's hardly a cryptic clue when you get here, is it?' remarked Bluthus, surveying the two stone heads on the wall below the drainage pipe. 'And I hardly need any warning about not touching those _cats_…'

They could both see the dimly glowing eyes of the poor lions and tigers, and hear them growling ravenously in the gloom.

With no further instructions forthcoming from Nigel, Bluthus reached up and patted the nose of the stone head that wasn't a cat, which could now clearly be seen to be a wolf.

At first, nothing happened, but when Bluthus pressed the wolf's nose again, this time, harder, they heard a grinding of stone. A narrow entrance opened up in the wall beside where Nigel was leaning, causing him to shuffle sideways in haste.

Bluthus, hurrying through, saw the relic instantly: an uneven shaped crystal that glowed bright green, placed in a niche in the wall opposite. Flaming torches were lit on the near wall.

'Uh-oh,' thought Nigel as he peeped through door and observed the lights. 'Someone has been here recently.' Then he shouted, urgently: 'Professor! Stop!'

Nigel had spied various suspect looking holes in the side-walls – from which missiles could fly - and button-like raised stones in the floor. Bluthus had been about to blunder straight across, no doubt at the cost of his life.

'What is it, Nigel?'

'Just don't go any further, Professor. I've been in places like this with Sydney hundreds of times. I think there are traps.'

'Hmmmmm,' rumbled Bluthus. 'That awful, violent woman!'

Nigel glared at his old Professor as he dragged himself through the doorway, but had no time to argue. The walls and floor were covered with symbols, that he instantly recognised as Egyptian hieroglyphs. There was some evidently sort of code to crack before they could get across.

'I expect the symbols on the wall will show us the safe route,' said Nigel grumpily. 'We need to decipher then.'

Bluthus had already applied his skills to this task.

'The symbols on the floor represent animals: There are several wolves, rats, cows and snakes,' he said. Nigel nodded. He could work that out for himself.

He beat Bluthus to the translation on the wall: 'Follow the prey of the sacred cat.'

'Simple,' said Bluthus, self-confident as ever. 'We follow the rats.'

Nigel wasn't so sure. 'Everyone knows that cats catch rats…its too simple. This is obviously an attempted Roman version of an Egyptian code…' Nigel paused for thought. Applying his brain to this kind of task was the most fun he'd had in some time.

His face lit up: 'I think I've got it! Roman chroniclers claimed that the Egyptians started to worship cats because they protected their families from snakes. That's what first made the cat sacred in Egyptian culture. We should follow the snakes!'

Bluthus looked sceptical. 'That can't be true. _I've _never heard about it.'

'New research published last month, Professor,' said Nigel smugly. 'You've been out of the loop for a while.'

'Hhhmmmm', rumbled Bluthus. 'If you're so confident in your theory, _you'd _better go and get it!'

'In case you hadn't noticed,' offered Nigel, his words dripping with a sarcastic false jollity, ' I can barely walk!'

'Hop then! _I'm _not doing it.'

Nigel believed him. He had irritated Bluthus with his superior knowledge, and was increasingly learning that his old mentor would not go much out of his way to do people favours.

Bluthus stooped as far as to help Nigel to his feet, and was nearly moved to offer to do it himself when his ex-student gave a small gasp of pain. After a moment, however, Nigel seemed steady enough, and Bluthus decided to let him get on with it.

Fortunately, the three snake symbols were on slabs close to the wall. Nigel was able to support himself against it as he, literally, hopped between them. Leaning most of his weight on his arm and better foot, he still wobbled dangerously a couple of times. Reaching the other side, he gratefully dropped to his hands and knees, and took a sharp, ragged intake of breath. The short journey hadn't been an easy one.

'Good lad!' said Bluthus excitedly, overlooking Nigel's obvious suffering. 'Now, don't dawdle. Get the thing!'

Nigel shuffled forward, the effort now straining his every sinew, until he was kneeling below the niche in the wall.

'Chop, chop!' said Bluthus. 'We need to hide it so that dreadful Veronica never gets her hands on it.'

'Is that really the best thing, Professor?' asked Nigel, gravely. 'I want to go home. And if Sydney can take on a whole arena of gladiators, what makes you think she can't get the magic necklace off Veronica, and take us all back to the 21st-century, relic and all.'

'Don't be so selfish, Nigel. That's that mad Fox woman, influencing you again. You can't risk it!'

Nigel ignored him, reached up and took Hatshepsut's Eye down from the niche. Its weight was such that he nearly dropped it, and he rested it in his lap, staring into it.

'So it really tells whoever looks into it what they should do for the best?'

'Legend has it that you have to ask it, Nigel. You can ask for yourself – that's what most people do of course – or for somebody you love. But don't use it Nigel…it's too risky. Bring it back over here and _I'll _do that.'

Nigel only heard to the words he wanted to. If Sydney was still fighting for her life in the ring, he needed to see the way to help _her_.

Bluthus tutted as Nigel stared into the depths of the radiant crystal and asked, in a whisper, for what he wanted. Bluthus saw nothing, but for Nigel there was an almighty flash, and he knew what he must do.

'It's obvious, really,' sighed Nigel, and he gazed back down at the relic as if slightly disappointed with it. 'At least it shouldn't be too difficult…'

'What did it tell you! What did it tell you!' Bluthus was veritably bouncing up and down in anticipation. However, as Nigel looked up towards him, he froze with dread.

Demetrius and Agroitus were standing behind Bluthus in the doorway, both looking somewhat surprised to find the 'warrior princess's' presumed-dead husband, rather than the star herself.

'By the Gods!' exclaimed Demetrius, spying the glowing crystal in Nigel's hands. 'Is _that _your treasure?'

'It's nothing special,' said Agroitus dismissively, concealing his extreme agitation. 'But I wouldn't mind if you relieved your slave of it…oh, and please only tread on the snake symbols.' He indicated which ones they were. 'Otherwise you might die horribly.'

'Get up, boy!' ordered Demetrius, as he began to pick his way across. 'Believe me, you're going to pay for this.'

Nigel had little doubt that he would, especially once he'd done what he was about to do. But first he needed a bit of height. With a tired sigh, and using the niche as a handhold, he pulled himself to his feet. Nigel then flung Hatshepsut's Eye to the stone floor, projecting it with some force. The delicate crystal shattered into smithereens.

'Nigel!' Bluthus cried out in disbelief and Agroitus howled with anger. As Demetrius approached him, Nigel instinctively backed away, accidentally stepping with some force on his injured ankle.

A bolt of pain shot up his leg, and his senses could take no more. Nigel crumpled to the floor in a dead faint, right at Demetrius' feet.

…………………….

'Feed him to the lions! Feed him to the lions!'

Agroitus raved like a madman. He could hardly believe that his key to fame and fortune had been taken from him by a being he regarded as a worthless slave. How did he get in here? Why could he read the hieroglyphs? Who on earth was he? He had to die!

'Feed him to the lions!' Agroitus reiterated, as Demetrius regarded him with interest. Just how much had that jewel had been worth?

'I'm not just shoving him in the cage to be eaten,' replied Demetrius, after some consideration. 'He cost me money. If he dies, he does so in the ring for the entertainment of my crowd. And, unless she's already eloped with the grunting goon, I think that might just bring our 'warrior princess' back.'

As Agroitus and Demetrius bickered about what to do, Nigel, now drifting in and out of consciousness, spluttered weakly and rolled onto his side. A drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, filling Bluthus, who stood cowering in the doorway with a new kind of horror.

Formerly, he had just about justified his former undergraduates untimely end to himself. However, he hadn't expected to have to watch him suffer. He sincerely wished that Nigel, bruised and battered as he was, did not still look so youthful. He cursed his pang of conscience, both for now and for when it had urged him to help Nigel in the marketplace. His star pupil had brought nothing but trouble.

Bluthus protested meekly as Demetrius, placing both his hands under Nigel's shoulders, hauled him upright and gave him a violent shake. When Nigel made no effort to take his own weight on his feet, Demetrius slung him over his shoulder and headed over the snakes towards the door.

Bluthus, moved at last to action, floundered after him, imploring him to reconsider.

'You can't feed him to the lions and tigers,' he pleaded. 'There's not enough flesh on him for them all to eat.' To illustrate his point, he grabbed one of Nigel's slender arms, which dangled limply down Demetrius' back and waved it at Agroitus.

'Good point,' said Agroitus. 'It'll take much more than _that _to feed five hungry beasts. And I've just an idea who would fill them up nicely.'

Bluthus gulped in horror as it dawned on him what he'd let himself in for.

………………………………………………………..

Sydney and Derek, like many before and since them in a round amphitheatre, had dashed the wrong way around the walkway. By the time they reached the right side of the lion's and tigers cage there was nobody there. All they found was an open door into a once secret room, and a shattered relic lying on the floor.

Sydney instantly realised what it was that lay broken, and cautioned Derek as he stepped into the room. 'Careful. There are traps, and they could be still set.' She pointed to the shards. 'Sadly, that's our easiest ticket home smashed to pieces.'

Derek looked at the pieces of crystal in dismay, but they both had more pressing issues on their minds. 'Do you think that Nigel ever got here?'

A thought crossed Sydney's mind: 'I'd better check he's not still hiding in the conduit.' She stepped out of the room, called his name and peeped up the drainage pipe. ' No,' she confirmed. 'He's not here.' Sydney jumped as she heard a tiger snarling in its dark cage beside her, and headed back into the room with Derek.

'I've got a hunch Nigel might just have had something to do with this little mess,' she admitted.

'You think he broke the relic? Deliberately?'

'I don't know,' said Syd, pensively. She was about to conjecture further when Derek clamped a powerful hand over her mouth.

One the verge of throwing him off - she never _could _trust Derek Lloyd – Syd realised why he had acted so. Two guards had rounded the walkway, and were heading in their direction. Derek released his grip over her mouth and his hand lightly brushed back across her cheek. They backed as far into the room as they dared without setting off traps and listened.

'So why are we letting the lion's and tiger's out?' said a guard. ' I thought the show was over!'

'Nah… Demetrius is already selling tickets for a second sitting. Says the 'warrior princess' herself will be back for an encore.'

'I thought she headed for the hills!'

'Demetrius is sure he's got something she'll come back for. The punters are flocking back in.'

Sydney extracted herself from Derek, who had still been holding her protectively near, and peeped around the corner. One of the guards was pressing the nose of the cat's head on the wall. There was a metallic clang, and the creaking hinges of a cage opening.

'What did they say?' hissed Derek urgently, as the guards started to retreat.

Sydney turned to him, her face flushed and her eyes vibrant with fear. 'They said that we need to get back into the ring. Right now!'

………………………

Demetrius ordered his henchmen to escort fat, old Bluthus to a conveniently placed stake in the middle of the arena. He then unceremoniously dumped Nigel on the ground on the other side of the post, forced him into a sitting position, and chained his hands up to Bluthus's.

'Isn't this rather, err, overkill?' blethered Bluthus at the sight of the chains. 'I mean, the poor lad is barely even conscious, and I'm not running away. I promise!'

Bluthus would certainlyhave escaped if given the chance. Although he would have felt a _little _guilty, he would have happily done so without Nigel. However, his hopes were fading fast, and the chains were the final straw.

As Demetrius laughed and retreated from the arena, Bluthus sat himself down, and jerked on the chains that now bound him to the post and his star pupil.

'Pssst! Nigel. Wake up! It isn't fair that _you _should be dozing while _I _have to be wide awake as we're eaten alive.' Nigel did not respond. He was so drowsy that his forehead was now drooping towards his knees.

Bluthus yanked again on the chains. This time the force pulled Nigel's whole upper body backwards so that his head bumped, fortunately not too hard, against the pillar. 'Come on, Bailey! Show some backbone!'

Nigel gave a small whimper, and his eyes flickered open. 'Where am I?' he mumbled.

'About bloody time!' Bluthus sighed with relative relief.

As Nigel registered his surroundings, and the note of panic in Bluthus' voice, he ventured a tentative question. 'Um, Professor, what's going on?'

'We're about to be eaten by lions and tigers, my lad!' Bluthus confirmed Nigel's worst fears with a jovial hysteria.

'Then why did you have to wake me up?'

Nigel's plea would have sounded touchingly pitiful to anyone else's ears, but Bluthus told him to 'stop whining.'

'Great,' said Nigel, his exasperation boiling over and giving him renewed resources of energy. 'This is just delightful, isn't it? What do you want me to do? Talk about post-structural Marxist theory?'

'It might be interesting…' conjectured Bluthus.

Nigel rested his head back against the pillar. 'You know, Bluthus? I feel like hell. I've barely eaten for two-days. I've been sold as a slave, been told my best friend was probably dead, been beaten up _several _times and been bludgeoned by a gladiator. Oh, and I believe I've also found time to fall off a horse. Now, it seems, I'm going to be eaten alive.'

Nigel stopped for breath, as Bluthus rumbled 'hhhmmmm,' then he continued:

'But none of it - _none of it_ - holds a candle in its awfulness to the prospect of listening to fat-face Bluthus deconstructing post-structural Marxist theory _as _I get my leg chewed off.' He took another deep breath, and then concluded: 'Bluthus, I hate to say it, but you're one of the most obnoxious people I've ever met. You're even worse than my brother! '

Nigel felt strangely liberated. Being about to die was very good for destroying uncalled for deference. Bluthus was not so impressed:

'That's that terrible Fox woman speaking again. You'd better purge yourself of such treacherous thoughts before you die, my lad. And your brother is a fine gentleman. He should have taken _you _in hand more, I can see that now!'

'That's another thing,' added Nigel. His energy reserves were dwindling, but he was not finished yet. 'Not only are you not such a nice person as Sydney, you'll never be half the historian she is, either! Now will you please shut up? I have a beast of a headache!'

Bluthus' reply was halted when, on the edge of the arena, a large iron cage door creaked ominously open. Glimmering green eyes could be seen inside, still lurking in the dark.

Nigel closed his eyes. He'd given up hope before, and Sydney had always come for him. And if there wasn't Sydney, there was Derek. They were both close at hand. They'd come, wouldn't they? Or would this be the time when they were just too late?

Nigel resolved that his best hope was to use his last ounce of breath screaming for help.

………………………………………….

Sydney and Derek elbowed and shoved their way through the returning crowd. They even managed to ambush a few guards in order to acquire an impressive arsenal of weapons.

When they both charged back into the ring, a momentous cheer went up. The whole amphitheatre was nearly full again. They'd paid for more action, something that currently was not being provided by two terrified prisoners, tied to a stake.

The lions and tigers, although upset by the uproarious noise, had now mooched out of their cage, compelled by the sheer necessity of searching for food. One of the bolder females had already sniffed out that Bluthus and Nigel would make a nutritious meal, and was padding over in their direction, a ravenous glint in her eye.

Nigel had stopped screaming, and now sat very quiet and still, pale as a ghost. Bluthus, however, was still bellowing his lungs out, particularly as the tigress was heading straight for him.

Sydney gave a shriek at the sight, which concerned Derek. Could Sydney Fox be loosing her cool?

'You get Nigel,' he commanded. 'I'll look after the cats.'

As Derek finished his words, Sydney was already sprinting to the aid of her teaching assistant.

Bluthus, seeing her approach, shouted: 'Rescue me first! I taste better!' Sydney ignored him completely.

She flung her arms around Nigel's neck. As she kissed him, she knew instantly something was wrong - really wrong. His lips were dry but the rest of his skin was unusually cold and clammy. His breathing was shallow and strangely harsh. While vaguely conscious, her usually highly cognisant assistant barely acknowledged her, although his head nodded forward onto her shoulder.

'Nigel?' she whispered, even as she thought: 'Damn you, Derek Lloyd. You lied _again_. He's far from alright.'

Her relief was tangible when Nigel, fighting off the wave of faintness, mumbled: 'Syd, I knew you'd come.'

'I'll always come for you, my darling…just hold on in there, okay?' Once again, the words sounded unfamiliar, quite unlike her own, but they somehow comforted her. She hoped they comforted Nigel.

Syd tenderly settled him back against the post and brushed his hair from where it clung to his forehead. Tearing all she could of her strength from the whirlpool of love, fear and guilt that threatened to consume her, she turned her attention to hacking away at the chains.

Nigel forced a wavering smile and closed his eyes again.

…………………….

From the box, Demetrius and Agroitus surveyed the scene with mixed feelings.

It wasn't a _bad _show. The 'warrior princess' was having real problems with the thick chains. One of the lions had approached from the other side and was sniffing the old man's juicy-looking leg. There could be some fun coming up _there_, he mused. The 'grunting goon' was holding the rest of the animals at bay by swishing his sword, although he displayed no intention of hurting them unless it was absolutely necessary.

'Send some more of your men in,' suggested Agroitus. 'This is just too easy.'

Demetrius shouted orders to one of his top lieutenants, who relayed the message to his men. He returned, however, with a sheepish expression and said that the guards were afraid to face such formidable fighters as the 'warrior princess' and the one the punters were now calling 'Maximus.'

'People are saying they're unconquerable.'

'Of course they're not. And how _dare _they disobey me!' yelled Demetrius.

The gladiator-owner glanced into the ring. Derek had lured the lion away from Bluthus and had tossed Sydney an axe, with which she was nearly through the chains. They'd be fighting their way out of the ring any minute now. There was no time for arguments.

'There's only one undefeated gladiator around here!'

Demetrius grabbed the lieutenant's sword and shield and vaulted right over the edge of the box and into the ring.

**Thanks for reading. Please review. Go on!**


	12. the tigress

**Disclaimers: on the verge of past caring.**

**Thanks for the reviews. Lb- don't worry, I wouldn't! Rosesbud - not sure either, but I'm working on it…Robin – yup. He's hot. No idea why I do such nasty things to him…Tanya Reed - thanks so much for the inspiration (and the spelling of ****Mafdet!) **

**Warnings: Not the funniest chapter I've ever written, with pathos verging on the Dickensian (in quantity, if not quality). It's another one that perks up towards the end, though (as does Nigel). Honest. **

………………………………………

Sydney swung the axe with all her might. She was nearly through the chains, and it wasn't a moment too soon. In the corner of her vision, she spotted Demetrius, stalking across the ring, his roar more menacing than any of the beasts.

Derek, who had managed to cow the big cats into retreat, now discerned an even more determined opponent who striding towards him.

'Sydney! We've got trouble…'

Sydney resolutely hacked through the final part of the metal chains. Bluthus jumped to his feet with surprising agility for a man of such indolence. Nigel didn't stir. Sensing greater urgency in Derek's voice as he hollered again, Sydney placed her hand on Nigel's shoulder and gently shook him.

'Nigel, do you think you can move?' She knew as she said it that this was a tall order.

'Syd…sorry. I'm…I'm not feeling so good…' Her assistant's eyes had lulled shut again and, when she removed the remnants of the chains, his freed arms dropped languidly. It was as if the restraints had been the only force that animated him.

'Don't worry.' She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then jumped up and grabbed the now retreating Bluthus by the tunic. He staggered back with an 'oomph!'

'You! You're going to help Nigel,' she ordered. 'Get him away from the tigers. You _must _keep him safe!'

As he opened his mouth to object, she added: 'if you even _think _about skulking away by yourself, not only will you be fed to the tigers, I will personally chop up their dinner for them! Do you understand me, Bluthus?'

Bluthus nodded chastely, but the side of his mouth twitched nervously in a way that she did not trust. Sydney glanced over her shoulder, and saw that the tiger, which Derek had lured off, was now stalking back. Bluthus' toes, poking out of his sandals, were also fidgeting. He was ready to run.

The vision crashed into Sydney's mind with the next beat of her heart: Nigel, lying on the sand in a pool of blood, his skin an ashen grey. He wasn't breathing. He'd never breath again.

There was no choice to be made. She knew a dozen men like Derek Lloyd and a hundred men as worthless as Bluthus. There was only one Nigel. She wouldn't trust his fate to the whims of this unreliable man, even if Derek's life depended on it. She couldn't.

Sydney thrust the axe into Bluthus' hands and pointed to the Special Agent, now locked in mortal combat with the gladiator owner: 'If you're not the coward I think you are, go and help him,' she stated, her voice eerily calm. 'If you are…so be it.'

Leaving the fates of both Bluthus and Derek in their own keeping, she turned around to face the big cat.

………………………………

The tigress was distressed and hungry. She was so close to easy prey, yet still some aggressive creature came between her and her dinner. She snarled and bore her fangs in frustration as Sydney swished her sword just inches from her nose. Aggravated, she drew back on her haunches, ready to pounce. Sydney raised her sword for another defensive swipe.

Their eyes locked together, female to female. For Sydney, the pandemonium was momentarily blocked out by a string of words that never even uttered from her lips. 'Please don't take him from me, Mafdet. I'm on your side, girl.'

The tiger roared and pounced, but not in the direction of Sydney and Nigel. Bluthus, who had stood motionless with the axe raised since Sydney had deserted him, bellowed with alarm, turned on his heels and fled, as the big cat charged after.

'Thank you Mafdet,' whispered Sydney. She never knew for sure if the feline goddess of protection helped her, but she always liked to believe so.

…………………………..

Derek was a trained fighter, but not such an experienced gladiator as Demetrius. The wily, old trainer knew every trick of the ring and _never _hesitated to play dirty.

So far, however, that had not been necessary. Derek had no shield, and was constantly on his back foot. He valiantly used his sword to block Demetrius' showering blows, but was given little chance to strike back. With every smash, his opponent drove him nearer the swiping claws of the increasingly hungry lions and tigers.

The crowd jeered; this was all too one-sided and there hadn't even been any blood yet. This wasn't what they'd paid for! They wanted to see the 'warrior princess' in action, and all she was doing was clinging to the body of an apparently dying man.

Rotten fruit began plummeting into the arena from the marauding hordes. Demetrius, hating the thought of his public dissatisfied, resorted to the oldest trick in the book. He kicked sand in Derek's face, then moved in and gave him a mighty shove with his shield. The Special Agent staggered back, raised a hand to his stinging eyes, and lost his footing.

The tigers leapt forward, as Derek thrashed blindly with his blade. Demetrius laughed and stepped back. Now he could face down the 'warrior princess,' while the animals finished the job. Hearing heavy footsteps behind him, he turned, raising his weapon with a flourish. He was ready for combat.

Instead of the graceful form of the 'warrior princess', however, he saw a rotund, elderly man, trotting at his top speed, with an angry looking tigress snapping at his skirts.

Demetrius hesitated, feeling unthreatened but unsure how to kill. It was only then that he saw the axe flying at him. Thrown with an inexpert desperation, the weapon hit its mark anyway.

Every lion and tiger in the arena sensed the impact and smelt the blood. Retreating from the still resisting Derek, they descended with relish upon their easy prey.

…………………….

'Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you out of here.' Sydney lifted Nigel's arm around her shoulders. Keeping hold of his hand, she wrapped her other arm around his waist, and hauled him to his feet. She was unsurprised when all of his weight collapsed back against her, and gritted her teeth against the force. She wasn't prepared, however, for her assistant to start choking convulsively.

Sydney let Nigel slide back down against the post, worried she had triggered this turn for the worse. She stroked his hair until the coughing passed, glancing up for a second to note, almost passively, that Demetrius was dead. Derek, apparently uninjured, was picking himself up off the arena floor. Looking down, Sydney's horror was infinitely greater when Nigel drew back a crumpled hand, with which he had still politely covered his mouth. It was splattered with blood.

She grasped his wrist and stared at his partially curled fingers, her mind searching wildly for its meaning. 'My God, Nigel. How long has this been happening?'

'Since…I fell…but I think it was that gladiator…who hit me…Syd?' The shock on her face alarmed Nigel as much as his own pained struggles. Usually, these symptoms would have panicked the hell out of him but, until now, his ankle had bothered him more persistently. Besides, his world had long since descended into a fevered haze in which all his ills blurred as one. 'It'll pass…won't it?'

'Everything is going to be fine.' Her words were hushed, but Sydney screamed inside. She was no doctor, but she was aware this must be serious. Could he by dying? Then it struck her that Nigel had been bludgeoned because he'd defended her…

At a temporary loss for what to do, she caressed his wrist with her thumb and repeated, as firmly as she could, 'everything is going to be _just fine_.'

As Derek approached, Syd wondered vacantly if she should be mad with him for leaving Nigel, or if he would be angry with her for not coming to his aid. As it was, he simply knelt down beside her and said, 'Hey.' Then he saw Nigel's hand.

'Christ!'

'It was when he coughed…' said Sydney, dry eyed but deadly grave. 'He said it's been happening since earlier…why did you say he was okay, Derek?'

'I didn't know,' said Derek, sincerely. He took Nigel's wrist from Sydney loose grasp and leaned in towards him, not quite nudging Sydney out of the way but certainly displacing her.

He patted Nigel on the side of his face. 'Hey, buddy?'

Nigel's dimming eyes engaged with Derek's and he forced a cheeky smile. 'Are we…in that…country pub, yet?'

'We'll save the talking for when we are, eh? We need to make a little journey.'

Nigel's smile faded with an almost indiscernible shake of the head. 'Can't…'

'I know, buddy.' Sydney felt curiously redundant as Derek hooked Nigel's arm around his own neck. Then, slipping his other arm under Nigel's knees, he raised himself to his feet, groaning at the extra strain. Although Nigel was slighter than he was, he was only a little shorter. Carrying him wasn't a negligible task.

Sydney, struggling to come to terms, knew she should be pleased: she could never have carried Nigel so comfortably or, indeed, as far as Derek probably could. Nevertheless, she suppressed a strange pang of jealousy when Nigel tentatively lifted his other arm and clung around Derek's neck. 'Focus, Sydney,' she told herself, 'there's work to do.' She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword.

'Had enough of the zoo, Derek?'

'You could say so!' Sydney spotted Derek had a nasty claw-slash on his face, and realised she not even looked at him since he'd extracted himself from his ordeal.

'Next time, let's stick to the penguins, shall we?'

'I'm just fine with that!' affirmed Derek.

'Now come on, we need to get out of here while the chimps are still watching 'feeding time.' I'll shoo them away.'

'Thank Sydney,' nodded Derek. 'I've got my hands full here!'

The stadium was in uproar. The crowd were pointing and shouting as the big cats tore apart their feast. The guards were in disarray – and not all were unhappy - as they watched their master's demise.

Sydney smiled affirmatively at Derek, and turned to Bluthus. The professor was hovering some metres away with knocking knees, observing the feeding frenzy he had caused. She shot him a withering glare: 'Are you coming, then?'

Bluthus looked surprised. He had fully expected to be left behind by the 'violent woman,' but he wasn't saying 'no' to an easy passage out. Sydney saw him fall behind them, and muttered to himself: ' I might find some use for you yet, you slithering reptile!'

……………………………………..

Such was the uproar that only two guards stood in the way of the 'warrior princess' as she and her little party made their bid for freedom. It was a wild Sydney Fox who dispatched them quickly, much pent-up frustration adding to the force of her swiping sword and her flying kicks to the head.

Agroitus writhed in anger as he saw them depart from the arena, but could do little to stop them. He dispatched men, left, right and centre, but Sydney and the others had already slipped into the crowds, who had at last had their fill of gore and were moving 'en masse' out of the gates. The threatening glint in Sydney's eyes, however, made all who went too near them scurry like mice.

Predictably, once the worst danger was passed, Professor Bluthus attempted to slip away into the night. Sydney grabbed hold of his trailing toga the instant she heard his sandals shuffle awkwardly in the dirt.

'They really should put you on the Athletics squad at Oxford, Bluthus. You've got quite a turn of speed when you want it, haven't you?' Bluthus mumbled something about being 'more of a cricket man,' but Sydney wasn't interested. 'You've been living here a while, right?'

'I can't help you, Professor Fox,' he blurted. ' I just killed a prominent citizen of Nevium. I must head for the woods and hide with the peasants!'

'Then that's where we're _all _going, Bluthus. How do we get out of the city?'

Bluthus leaned forward confidentially. '_We _can't. But it's not _you_, my dear,' he whispered, 'it _them_.' Here he indicated Derek and Nigel with his head. 'Even if they're not looking for us all together, it'll look far too suspicious. Nobody would carry a sick man from the city at this time of night. Besides,' he hushed his voice even further, 'the poor boy looks done for.'

Sydney's anger peaked at his words finished, but she suppressed the overwhelming desire to punch his lights out. 'Nigel's _not _dying, Bluthus,' she spat the words with hopeful venom, 'but we need a place that's safe and out of the night. So _you're _going to show me where I can get a cart, a horse and blankets, and take us somewhere to hide.' As the Oxford Don backed away, shaking his head, she added: 'Otherwise, I swear Bluthus, it'll be _you _that's done for!'

'Fine,' said Bluthus, with a notable lack of enthusiasm. 'Follow me, then.' Without dropping her guard, Sydney followed the professor. Derek trailed behind, straining to hold his burden tighter as Nigel's clasp around him quietly slipped away.

…………………….

Bluthus led them back to his master, Marcellus,' house, hoping they could sneakily 'borrow' a horse and cart. They were in luck. The whole house was dark apart from a light from the kitchens, and it appeared nobody important had yet got back from the amphitheatre.

'There,' hissed Bluthus, pointing to an outhouse, and kindling a little oil lamp he'd picked up from a windowsill. 'Sort out the wagon, and I'll get some blankets.' He passed Sydney the lamp.

'Okay. And don't even _consider _pulling a fast one!' Bluthus rumbled 'hhmmmm' and doddered off.

There was indeed a wagon in the outhouse, and a steady looking nag was stabled around the back. Sydney brought the horse and fitted a harness as Derek settled Nigel in the back of the cart. As soon as she'd finished, she hurried over.

'I'll take him, now.' Sydney's face betrayed both anxiety and impatience. She leant keenly over Nigel, who Derek still partially supported in his arms.

'Okay,' said Derek, sensing her need. He carefully laid Nigel's upper body in Sydney's lap. Nigel felt a little cold, so Syd wrapped her arms around him, pulling him up towards her chest, trying to make him more comfortable. As she shifted him, however, she heard a sharp gasp followed by a disconsolate murmur.

'Sorry,' whispered Syd, and eased Nigel back down, cursing herself. Why did she have to hurt him? He never seemed to flinch at Derek's touch.

To her relief, Nigel then relaxed against her, his face peaceful and his breathing steady. All the while, Derek looked on uneasily.

'What's the plan, Sydney?'

Sydney wished it were Nigel's familiar tones that asked those words, so common to them. 'We'll lay low in the back here. You and Bluthus will drive us out of the city, and he'll take us somewhere safe.'

'You've thought of nothing better than to trust that incompetent civilian? Sydney, it's not good enough! '

Sydney's answer betrayed her weariness. 'What you want me to say, Derek? Why don't _you _have a plan?'

'Sorry,' said Derek, raising his hand to his forehead and rubbed it with frustration. ' I guess my nerves are a little frayed.'

Sydney sighed, 'No, _I'm _sorry. This is all my fault.' Her eyes did not move from Nigel's still form. 'I should have come up with a better plan when we got here. I've always trusted my instincts… and they've always come through for me. But here…it's been different, Derek. The tide's been flowing so hard against us…'

'You can't blame yourself,' said Derek, settling himself on the back of the wagon next her. ' This hasn't be your everyday relic hunt, has it? This is a cruel world, a brutal time. Only the strong survive…'

Derek regretted the words even as he said them, but pre-empted Sydney's fears.

'Nigel's strong enough. He'll pull through.' He caught her escaping tear on his thumb, and cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face towards his. 'I won't let him die, Sydney.'

At that moment, Bluthus burst back through the stable-door, his arms filled with blankets.

'Ooooh,' he gasped, then clicked his tongue, as they both turned with a start: 'it's hardly a time for hanky panky, is it? And over the body of that poor, sick, boy as well! The youth of today…'

Shaking his head, he shoved the blankets at Sydney. 'Hide under those and pretend to be sacks of olives. Thank God it's dark!'

'Thanks,' mumbled Sydney, wishing more than ever that she could trust Derek's words. The old academic jumped into the front of the cart with considerable buoyancy and shouted 'gee up!'

The horse had barely moved a muscle, however, when Bluthus cried: 'Whoa!' A figure in the doorway had caused him to pull the reigns back urgently.

'Where are you going, you old donkey?'

'Lady Anita!' The glamorously robed, blond-haired girl was, indeed, she.

'Keep going,' hissed Sydney, without a clue who 'Lady Anita' was. 'She'll get out of the way soon enough!' Bluthus, dithering as ever, had stopped dead. 'Take the reigns and drive on,' she whispered to Derek, who started forward.

'Who's that in the back?' inquired Anita. 'Are you consorting with thieves…oh, salutations!'

As Derek landed on the seat next to Bluthus, the girl's eyes lit up. 'Bluthus! Introduce me to this handsome rogue!'

Derek, who hadn't had a clue what either of them were saying, reached for the reigns but was somewhat perturbed when the woman placed her hand on his firm, muscular thigh.

'Don't run off with this old donkey,' she implored him. ' I don't even care if you're a barbarian, or a highway robber. Someone dared stand me up this evening, and I'm through with boring patricians.' She swished her long hair romantically in a bid to excite him. 'You look like a _real _man. Take me off into the wilderness!'

Derek looked curiously at the girl. 'She wants you to run away with her,' explained Bluthus, earnestly.

'Tell her I'm flattered, but it'll have to wait for another time.' Derek, swiped her hand off his leg, yanked the reigns and the horse started forward.

'No!' squealed Anita. She staggered clear of the cart's wheels but, to everybody's approbation, she then leapt into the back.

Sydney angrily threw off the blanket that concealed her head.

'Will you be careful!' she barked.

Anita was surprised by the woman's presence and feared she had a rival. 'Why should I?' she retorted, and tugged off the rest of the blankets to see if there were any other occupants.

'Oh. It's him!'

Nigel still lay with his head in Sydney's lap, apparently sound asleep. As Anita scrutinised him in the lamplight, she could clearly see he was not the 'fine specimen' she'd been playing with yesterday.

'By the Gods,' she gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. 'What happened to him?'

'If you remember, Miss Anita,' said Bluthus matter-of-factly, 'he displeased you. Your father had him beaten and sold to the arena - you didn't exactly object at the time, did you? Everything sort of spiralled from there.'

'I do recall,' said Anita carelessly. 'He disobeyed me! But I didn't want this to happen. Some times I forget that slaves, well, bleed!'

'Let me get this straight,' said Sydney, shifting Nigel onto a blanket and moving towards the simpering girl. '_You're _responsible for this?'

'Not at all!' she retorted. 'I realise now I didn't want him broken. If he can be fixed, I'll have him back.' Syndey looked on in disbelief as Anita mused: 'he was so pretty, so nice to kiss… and so nice to touch.' Her hands drifted out towards Nigel, as if to see if this were still the case.

Sydney slapped her wrist. 'Hands off!'

'Why should I?' snapped Anita. 'I'm sure Father will buy him back for me if I want him. After all, he _was _mine…'

'He was never yours! He was always _mine_… in a manner of speaking. '

Sydney's fist contacted hard with Anita's jaw, sending her soaring from the back of the wagon. The patricians daughter landed, bottom first, in a pile of dung, shrieking with frustration.

'Sometimes,' said Syd, 'I just _love _hitting women!'

………………….

Sydney brushed her hands together, as if removing the dirt from such a despicable being, and then looked in curiosity as a small object clattered to a rest in the back of the wagon. It had obviously slipped out of the skirts of her rival as she'd fallen back.

It was a shard of green crystal. 'Part of Hatshepsut's Eye?' mused Sydney.

As she reached down to pick it up, she was pleasantly surprised when one of Nigel's hands darted out and seized it from where it lay, just inches from his fingers. He then opened one eye, and blessed her with a naughty, lopsided grin.

'Nigel! You're awake!' Sydney shuffled over and scooped him back into her arms. He still seemed fairly weak.

'I do seem to be, don't I?' he said, with only a slight wheeze. 'You've been scaring off my romantic conquests, again, I see?'

'Yeah, I want to ask you about that,' said Sydney, gratefully tagging his jovial tone. 'What's all this about touching and kissing?'

Nigel sighed. ' It was all in the name of relic hunting, honestly. And, believe me, she enjoyed it more than I did…' His voice trailed off as he suppressed a cough and swallowed hard.

Sydney smoothed back his hair. ' You can explain later, darling.' she said soothingly. Nigel rewarded her with another mischievous smile.

'That's three 'darlings'…and one 'sweetheart.''

Sydney eyes widened with amused pleasure: 'you're counting, Nigel?' On at least a couple of occasions when she had used those words, he had seemed barely 'with it.'

'Maybe,' said Nigel, 'does this mean I get to call you 'sweetcheeks?''

Sydney giggled. 'Err…No!' How could he be thinking of Stewie Harper and his nicknames at a time like this? At least he was still, well, Nigel! 'Now you'd better be quiet, my _darling_' she instructed. ' We're coming up to the city gates.'

Nigel's smile flickered away as Sydney lay down and cuddled up around him. 'Are you hidden?' asked Bluthus, checking as Syd drew the blanket over them.

'All set,' said Syd.

Derek drove the wagon forward with an expression of studied disinterest. He could hardly contain his relief, however, as the guards, sleepy and unconcerned, waved them through.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	13. secret places

**Disclaimers: I suppose I ought to say, not only do I not own Relic Hunter, but I don't own any of the movies I am shamelessly plundering.**

**Thanks for the reviews. Much appreciated! You guys keep this saga going...and, help! It is most certainly becoming a saga...bit of an angsty hiatus from the action in this bit, but plenty more of that to come!**

…………………….

The first thing that struck Nigel was the unfamiliar smell of moss, soil, and turf, with a hint of cooking and campfire.

It was as if he was out of doors, but he couldn't be, could be? He was certainly in bed. The pillow was soft, the blankets warm and he felt… well, actually, he didn't feel so good. His ankle throbbed, and there was a churning ache in his middle. He seemed to be awake, but he couldn't yet muster resources to move his limbs, or open his eyes.

'Bloody Hell,' thought Nigel, mentally paging through the catalogue of disasters that encompassed the previous few days. 'Where on earth am I now?'

He slowly lifted one eyelid, then the other, squinting at the stream of sunlight that poured from an opening into the dark space where he lay. He was in was some sort of small, round cabin, with dark brown walls. 'Mud and dung,' thought Nigel analytically. It was typical of the peasant's dwellings of the era. The remnants of a fire were glowing in the middle of the floor, barely a metre from where he lay. 'No wonder it smells funny', he conjectured.

There was nobody else inside, so the logical next step was to say something, and see if somebody came. This, however, also presented a dilemma. His mouth and throat were interminably dry, and all he could produce was an inaudible croak. Coughing, then swallowing hard, he tried again. 'Syd?'

Even he spoke, a willowy figure, with long, svelte limbs, appeared in the entrance. Backlit by the sunshine, the face was obscured, but Nigel knew full well who it was. Sydney fell to her knees by his side.

'Hello, Nigel.' He could simply feel her radiant smile. 'Am _I _glad to see _you_. I never thought I'd find another assistant fluent in _seven _languages. I was at my wits end!' She brushed back his hair affectionately.

'I'm glad to hear I'm not easily replaceable,' replied Nigel, his voice husky. 'I don't remember anything… about last night…after we were in the cart, at any rate. What happened?'

'That wasn't last night,' said Syd, with a slight grimace. 'That was two days ago. Bluthus showed us to this place, deep in the woods – recently deserted by a hermit, or something – then took off to lie low in the village outside the forest.'

'Oh.' Nigel dragged a hand up to his chin and rubbed it. Yes, he could feel that some time had passed. 'I've be 'out of it' all that time?'

Sydney lay down and stretched out next to him, gently laying her other arm across his waist. 'You were very ill, Nigel. You were struggling to breath… there was blood…somehow your body wasn't dealing with your injuries, they brought on a fever and we thought… we thought you might…' The nigh-garbled words stopped short, and Sydney Fox's familiar, confident tones returned. 'Well, let's forget about what we thought, then. You're here, and that's all that matters. Isn't it?'

Nigel gave her a wide-eyed nod. No wonder he felt so fatigued.

'Hungry?'

'I don't think I could face food. Maybe I'm a bit thirsty, though.'

'Great!' said Sydney, as thrilled as if he'd translated the whereabouts of the lost Ark of the Covenant. She jumped up, dashed outside, and returned with a little goblet of water.

'Did you boil it?' asked Nigel, dubiously. 'Because Derek made me drink this foul stuff the other day - couldn't have been safe, you know - and that could well have brought on the trouble…well, some of it.' When Syd shot him a sceptical look, he added, 'I'm sensitive to that sort of thing, you know. It's surprising I haven't get cholera!'

'I don't think that was the problem, Nigel. And yes, I boiled it myself.' Sydney sniggered. His 'precious' ways had often annoyed her, but right now, everything about Nigel was endearing. 'Can you sit up and hold it yourself?'

'I'll try,' suggested Nigel. He shuffled slowly up onto his elbows, as Sydney placed a couple more blankets, as a bolster, behind him. As the coverlet slipped off his chest, however, he yelped and grabbed it, pulling it up to his neck.

'I'm…I'm… I'm naked!'

'No you're not, Nigel. You're wrapped in several blankets. We gave you the softest, warmest, fluffiest ones we could find.'

'But I'm not wearing any clothes!'

'Well, you had made a bit of a mess of that tunic, hadn't you?'

Nigel pouted with appalled dismay. 'That was hardly my fault.'

'I'm not saying it was. But we couldn't leave you in those filthy rags, could we?'

'_We_? Who else stripped me naked? Derek?'

'He helped. If it makes you feel better, I didn't peek. _We _didn't peek.'

Nigel flopped backwards against the pillows, and hid his face in his hands. Things just kept getting better and better.

'Derek! Looking good!' Sydney's tones were ecstatic.

Nigel peeped through his fingers to see the Special Agent leaning through the doorway, a wide grin on his handsome face. Tanned by the sun, his skin was gleaming with a healthy sheen of sweat, which showed off his biceps to great advantage. The slash the tigers had made across his face only added to his rugged charm. He wore a fetching thigh-length, sleeveless get-up, made of crudely stitched together animal skins, with fur-trimmed edges. It was only then that Nigel noticed that Sydney was wearing a similar outfit, but hers was a sexy, feminine, off-the-shoulder number. They both looked bloody fantastic.

It was rather ironic, mused Nigel, if Sydney's enthusiastic cry of 'looking good' was supposed to apply to her wretched, little teaching assistant. He rather doubted it had.

'How's the patient?' enquired Derek, crouching down next to Nigel.

'Wishing he was dead,' mumbled Nigel, but beamed at Derek, his smile only partially drenched in sarcasm: 'I'm just peachy!'

………………………

'Are you sure you wouldn't like any help with that?'

Nigel, sitting up in bed and still wrapped only in the blankets, was trying to shave with a razor, a fragment of warped mirror and some oily smelling soap that Derek had used successfully for the same purpose. Nigel supposed it was a lot easier if your hands weren't shaking, but declined Sydney's help nevertheless.

From where he was, he could see that she was enjoying herself outside in the sunshine. Syd was perched decorously on an upturned log, fashioning a long stick, into a very impressive bow, with a small knife. Nearby, Derek was swinging an axe, chopping wood with masculine gusto. They were both laughing heartily about something or other.

'Great,' he muttered, gingerly pulling the blade across his skin. 'I'm stuck on a camping trip with Tarzan and Jane! They're just loving this! Ow!'

Nigel managed to complete the job with only a couple of minor nicks. He then perused himself in the mirror. He looked marginally more respectable than he had, but the face that stared back at him was somewhat gaunter than usual. The bruise under his lip and the cut on his forehead were still evident on the pale skin, as were grey patches under his eyes. He cringed at the contrast struck with Derek, currently wielding heavy tools with such power and prowess. Still, there was one more improvement that could easily be made.

'Sydney? Would you be so kind as to find me some clothes?'

Sydney rushed over and leant in through the hut door. 'You can't get out of bed, yet, Nigel. You're still healing.'

'I'd heal a lot better if I had some clothes on!'

'Okay, Nigel, I think Derek plundered you something on his little rounds. He got most of this stuff, you know.' Syd started to rummage through the few little luxuries, food and fabrics lying around them. 'He's been raiding the nearby Roman villas by night and the supply carts to Nevium by day. He's not only brought these things back for us, but he's also taken food for the poor in the villages. He's going to originate the legend of Robin Hood several centuries too early, if he's not careful!'

'I've got one hell of a Maid Marian in Syd, though,' yelled Derek from the woodpile. 'The one time I forced her to leave your side and let me stay, she raided twelve barrels of the best Roman wine from a convoy and distributed it all around the villages. They had one hell of a party!'

'I'm just thrilled for you both.' Nigel's fixed grin became an increasingly exasperated one. 'Clothes?'

Sydney pulled out a thin fabric tunic from a small wooden chest.

'Oh, that's just great,' hissed Nigel. 'You're both ponsing around in cool, 'his 'n' hers' jungle outfits, and all I get is slave-boy chique. _Again_.'

'I thought the fur would make you sneeze, Nigel. Besides, there were barely enough of the animal skins to cobble our costumes together.' A thought struck her. 'I might be able to adjust mine a bit to fit you...' Sydney started to peel her clothes off over her head.

'No!' Nigel raised a hand abruptly. 'It's fine. Give the tunic here.'

Nigel pulled it on, grateful to be covered by anything. He hadn't the energy to get up yet, but it was nice to know that now he had the option.

Sydney, readjusting her clothing, settled herself down next him. 'We need to talk.'

'We do?' Nigel looked up at her, optimistic. Was it going to be about the fact she'd told him she'd loved him? Had that meant anything other than 'you might be about to die, Nigel'?

'We _do_ need to talk,' confirmed Sydney, 'about how we're going to get home.'

'Oh, about _that_.' Nigel sighed, but conceded, 'I _would _like to go home.'

Sydney rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. 'I know. We all would. If we can just lay low here, then sneak back to the Tour Magne, we've still got that fragment to bargain with. It's a shame you dropped the relic, Nigel. I never intended to give it to Veronica, but it limits our plans…'

Nigel interrupted her, both his fists clenching, unseen under the blanket. 'What do you mean, 'dropped the relic''?

'Bluthus told us about it. I know you were poorly, Nigel, but it was a _little _careless.'

Nigel's jaw dropped. 'I _didn't _drop it. I used it!' He took a large gulp of breath. 'I _asked _it to tell me the best thing to do…for you!' He gasped again, so upset that he verged on hyperventilating.

'Okay, Nigel. Calm down.' Mildly berating her assistant came naturally to her. He didn't usually react like this, but then he _had _been through a lot lately. 'So you're telling me that you destroyed the relic deliberately?'

'Of course I bloody did!' Nigel bit down hard on his bottom lip. After everything – _everything_ – she still thought of him as nothing more than her bungling assistant. She'd been kind to him – she still was being kind - but there was nothing more than that in her attitude towards him. Not even respect.

Sydney paused for a second, striving to read his emotions. The act of sacrifice and heroism that she had just dismissed as a careless accident was slowly dawning on her. She reached out to touch his face, but Nigel rolled dejectedly onto his side out of her reach.

'Go flirt with Derek, Sydney. I'm feeling lousy and I'd like some peace.'

'Nigel, I…' She rested her hand on his thigh, and felt him tense at her touch. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have believed what that bastard said. I don't know why I did…'

'You believed him because it sounded so 'like Nigel', didn't it? Who can blame you? Poor, clumsy Nigel! He always 'drops the ball' at the crucial moment, why not the relic?'

Sydney could hear that he was struggling to hold back tears. She tried to pull him back towards her, wanting nothing more than to hold him. Nigel, however, haughtily pulled the blanket up around him, until it concealed his face.

'I'm sorry. Really, it was thoughtless of me. What you did was very brave.'

'It's okay, Syd,' sniffed Nigel, his voice muffled by the blanket. 'I guess I just woke up cranky. I suppose I should be thanking you and Derek for saving my life several times over, rather than snapping your head off.'

'Don't be silly, Nigel.' Sydney checked herself. There she went again with the scolding. 'It sounds like it's me who should be thanking you. Thank you Nigel.'

Nigel eased himself onto his back and peeped out of the covers. 'You're welcome. But it was the obvious thing to do, really, wasn't it? Something that powerful had to be destroyed. I guess the magic was just waiting for the first person not to use it for their own sake.'

'That's got to be a special person, Nigel.' She lay down next to him again, and was pleased when he let her enfold him in her arms, even if he did not reciprocate.

Nigel merely sighed. 'You'd have done exactly the same and you know it.'

They lay now with their bodies pressed intimately together, her hair cascading onto his shoulder and her hand tenderly caressing his now-covered chest. Nigel, who had been staring up at the straw roof, slowly turned his face towards hers, which hovered barely an inch away on the pillow.

Syd's first sentiment as their eyes locked was sympathy. Close up, Nigel appeared so drained that his gaze seemed glazed, vacant even. As she conjured up a sweet, consoling smile, however, something moved, deep in his hazel eyes, which unsettled her completely.

'Nigel, I…' As she spoke, her lips edged almost indiscernibly towards his, parting slightly.

'Hell!' thought Syd. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to hold him tight forever. She'd nearly lost him and now she couldn't endure the thought of being more than a few metres away. The glint in his eyes beneath that weary, yet still so beautiful, facade, simply told her what he had already demonstrated to her, over and over. He loved her more than his own life.

She moistened her lips and moved in for the kill.

Rather than receiving her, however, Nigel blinked heavily, as if waking himself from a dream, and said 'I'm sorry Syd.' His voice was flat and jaded. 'I really just want to sleep. Otherwise, I'll be biting your head off - and Derek's - for the next three days.'

His breath brushed off her lips then faded as he turned away and shut his eyes.

'Okay, Nigel. Just holler if you need anything.' She sat up, floated her fingers up his cheek and drifted them through his hair. She'd lost count of how many times she'd done that now. Each time it was harder to pull away. But why was this so difficult to articulate when they weren't teetering on the verge of danger and death?

'I'll be near, my darling…' she whispered, so softly that she doubted he heard.

Nigel heard well enough. The words were no comfort but his thoughts were clear. 'Why does she have to toy with me? She strips my soul naked, time after time, and then runs off to a _real _man…'

…………

Agroitus was so livid that he slopped the contents of his oyster right down the front of his toga.

'So you're telling me that the Gallic villagers drank _all _twelve barrels of my finest wine? And then they had the greatest revelry since the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah?'

Agroitus' henchman was terrified by his master's wrath. 'I'm afraid so, consul,' he simpered. 'They're saying the wine was given them by the 'warrior princess,' and the rest of the goodies were distributed by the one called 'Maximus.' We're doing everything we can find them, but they disappeared back into the forest.'

This did not appease the consul, who continued to rave: 'Several legions are passing through here over the next few days, on their way to suppress rebellions in the north. I won't have them finding my province in a mess and the peasants agitated against us!'

Agroitus moaned in anguish, tearing at his hair so it stuck out in clumps from his head.

'You will _find _that floozy - and her new man - and you will bring them here. Then I will personally cut both their hearts out with this oyster spoon!' He brandished the said small implement in the air as if he were wrapping it against his enemy's nose.

The lieutenant promised he'd deliver them, and scuttled off to rally his men.

…………………

Emerging into the open after leaving Nigel, Sydney saw that Derek had erected a very impressive pile of chopped wood and was now priming some stone-headed arrows to go with the new bow she had made.

Seeing the distress on Sydney's face, however, Derek dropped everything. 'What's wrong? Is Nigel worse again?' He had nearly darted through the cabin door when Sydney barred his way and forced a smile.

'No. He's fine…better even. But he's asleep.'

'Oh.' Derek sighed with relief. 'Why the long face, then?'

'Because I upset him,' confessed Syd. Derek frowned. 'Honestly, I didn't intend to. He destroyed the relic deliberately…for me.'

'Let me guess,' said Derek, as they sat down on the logs. 'Sydney Fox thundered in, with all the sensitivity of a sledgehammer. She recalled that lying oaf's story about a clumsy accident, and reprimanded Nigel like he was a naughty schoolboy?'

Right though he was, Sydney couldn't believe that Derek Lloyd, of all people, was calling her insensitive. 'Since when did _you _become 'Mr touchy-feely', Derek? Oh yes, I remember, it's because you collect stamps! That's the big excuse for all the times that 'Mr kill or be killed' comes out, isn't it?'

'He's in semi-retirement, Sydney. You know that. The killer appears only when he has to.'

Sydney didn't quite have the heart, or a case, to argue. Both sides of Derek's personality had come through for her lately. Moreover, she had a slightly resentful suspicion that she could never have rescued Nigel from the amphitheatre, let along nursed him through his injuries, without him.

'I guess I did mouth off with all the subtlety of a bulldozer,' she conceded. 'Nigel must be feeling very vulnerable right now.' She paused and her head drooped. 'Oh God - I don't know what I'd have done if we'd lost him, Derek.'

'You care a lot for Nigel, don't you?'

'Of course I do.' Sydney's reply was almost dismissive.

'I suppose you realise he's desperately in love with you.'

Sydney resisted the urge to snap in self-defense. 'We both care a lot for each other,' she muttered.

'When I found him, the first time, he was inconsolable, you know? But it wasn't about all of the sickening things that had been done to him that day. It was about _you_, Sydney. He thought you _might _be dead.' Derek chuckled dryly. 'I didn't believe _that _for one minute!'

Sydney was now looking at him intensely, as if she was on the verge of saying something. She didn't, so Derek continued. 'And then, in the ring, he insisted I helped you - there was no arguing with him - even though he must have been in a lot of pain…'

Sydney finally interrupted 'What do you want me to say, Derek? Am I supposed to feel guilty?' She raised a defensive hand. 'Because I do, okay? _I _love him too, you know. It's just that…well, Nigel isn't like other men…the kind of men I have relationships with…'

'No, Syd, he isn't. And I don't mean that he can't take a bit of fooling around…at the right time. But _you're _going to have to let him go, Sydney, before you destroy him, physically and mentally. Or get yourself killed in the process.'

'What the heck are you talking about? Okay, we've had a close call, but this hasn't exactly been a typical Relic Hunt. You said that.'

'But there's been tight moments before, haven't there? His devotion to you means he's putting himself in even more danger than he would be otherwise. Besides, he's the obvious target for everyone who wants to get to you. I saw that a mile off and, I admit, I took advantage…before I knew you both so well, of course.'

Sydney scowled at him, but she was pleased she wasn't the only person admitting their faults that day. Derek, however, continued his tirade: 'Nigel needs some sweet, little English rose, who clings to him as her rock. Someone who waits for him at the cottage door until he gets home from a lecture, or dig.'

'That's a bit cliche, isn't it, Derek?' Sydney's words were bitter.

'Maybe. But that isn't my point. If you don't let him down gently, he'll let you drag him about by the collar, variously scolding and cosseting him, until the bitter end. And Sydney, it _will _be a bitter end. He doesn't belong in our world.'

'Do _we _have a world, Derek?' said Sydney sarcastically.

Derek's expression lightened. 'If you're asking if you and I should have a serious, long-term relationship, Sydney, I think not. That would be equally fatal and the end would come much quicker. But you know what I mean.'

Sydney's emotions were too awhirl to argue. 'Can we change the subject, Derek?' She tried to sound feisty, but her voice was merely strained.

'Hey,' he rubbed her back encouragingly. 'Let's not dwell on it now, eh? Do you want to go out plundering? Go and express some Sydney Fox attitude?'

Sydney shook her head. 'Nah. I'd rather stay here. Build the fire…watch over Nigel…'

'Yeah? I've noticed all the girls _love _looking at him. Is it that cute way he pouts?'

Sydney raised her eyebrows in amused surprise. 'Derek, are you saying you think Nigel is 'cute''?

Derek laughed heartily. 'Not like that. Hey, I'm sure a lot of guys think he is! But would I really be hitting on _you _all the time, if I did? I was just curious.'

Sydney giggled, thankfully smothering her complex, deeper sentiments with throwaway teasing and flirting. Derek slung the bow and arrows into a halter on his back. Then he picked up the largest, heaviest looking sword on their weaponry pile, and grinned devilishly. 'I'll be back soon.'

'Can you grab a take-out? I'd kill for some sushi!'

'I'll see what I can do. Maybe the Romans have been raiding Japan this week!'

……………………..

Nigel found sleep wasn't the easy way out he'd coveted. Leering images, of faces he'd rather forget, harassed him from the moment he shut his eyes. He soon wished he'd not sent Sydney packing – maybe there was more peace with her there, despite everything?

He coughed politely. Nobody came. Nigel laboriously raised himself up on one elbow so he could see outside. 'Syd?'

Still nobody heard, and Nigel was soon glad. He observed silently as Sydney and Derek chatted and laughed, and then as Syd favoured the hunky Special Agent with a teasing peck on the cheek. As Derek turned and vanished into the undergrowth, Nigel smothered a genuine cough, dismally half-wishing for the return of the familiar taste of blood. Dying had to be more entertaining than watching those two. He didn't even have a book…

Exhausted, he decided disturbed sleep was still a better option than company.

………………

In a peasant village a few miles away, Agroitus' men had made an interesting discovery amidst their general burning and pillaging. Cowering in the corner of a hut, where the elderly women looked after little children as their parents gathered food, was a fat old man in a lady's headscarf.

'By the God's, that's an ugly old hag!' said the first marauding soldier who laid eyes on him. The children squealed and the women wailed. 'Where have I seen _you _before?'

'No idea,' squeaked the headscarved one, in a strange falsetto. 'Why don't you take the little ones? They've got whole lives ahead of them you know, many years of labour. Some of them might fetch quite a price!'

'Hold on,' said the soldier, pulling off the bad disguise and dragging Bluthus out into the light. 'You're the toad-faced one responsible for Demetrius' demise! Hey…didn't you escape with the 'warrior princess?''

Bluthus shook his head so hard that dizziness forced him to stop. 'Oooooh no. I've no idea where that violent woman is. I'd obviously tell you if I did.'

'Maybe you should come and talk to the consul, old man. He'll have reliable ways of finding out if you're telling the truth.'

Bluthus was particularly adverse to physical pain, and realised instantly that it wouldn't be worth enduring any torture. Of course he would talk! He might as well 'spill the beans' now and be done with it. He congratulated himself on his logic, and virtuously held back just a little of the truth.

'I don't know where they are _now_, of course. But I've got a feeling that they might pop in here again here later. If not, I certainly know where they will be in a few days time.'

'You should tell this to Agroitus Pocculus.'

Bluthus smiled peevishly. He still didn't fancy his forthcoming interview, but at least he had bargaining tools. If he really must, he could not only deliver the 'warrior princess' and her friends, but he could also suggest that Agroitus could replace his lost treasure with a gorgeous, enchanted, time-travelling necklace.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	14. fire and firelight

**Disclaimers: blah.**

**Roxie, Areya and Tanya: He he – how could you not trust me? I'm cruel, but I'm not heartless. However, the nagging worked. I have brought a certain plot development a few chapters forwards…this is for you !**

**Tanya - thanks so much for the preview comments. ****Rosesbud – thanks, as ever, for the nice review. I appreciate them all!!**

……………

Sydney peered into the steaming cooking pot, and screwed up her nose. Her attempt at making a nourishing 'soup' from some sort of meat, olives, berries and a crumbly bit of cheese, was hardly the most appetising meal she'd prepared - and she'd produced some pretty unsatisfactory ones in her time. Still, it was getting late and Derek wasn't back yet with anything else. She wanted Nigel to eat something when he woke up, although she wasn't sure this was _quite_ the way forward.

Leaving the outdoor fire, she peered into the hut and was surprised to see that Nigel was awake, or at least his eyes were open. He was staring intently at the ceiling, obviously lost in thoughts, and not particularly happy ones at that. He didn't seem to notice when she appeared at the door.

'Nigel, are you alright?'

'No doubt I am,' replied Nigel dryly without even looking at her, and then remembered his manners. 'Honestly, Syd, I'm fine. Never better.' He smiled wanly at her.

Sydney, disturbed by something she couldn't yet put a finger upon, knelt down and laid the back of her hand on his forehead. He cringed. 'I told you, I'm fine. I'm not a child. I can tell you now that I haven't got a fever.'

Nigel's serious tone, and a temporary fear of scolding him, suppressed Sydney's desire to tell him to 'be quiet and let her look after him.' Instead she said, 'Okay, Nigel. Would you like something to eat? I've made some soup.'

Nigel thinned his eyes suspiciously, just a glint of good humour of returning. 'You've made some soup? I'm torn between my curiosity and a suspicion that it might just finish me off altogether!'

Sydney laughed gratefully: 'Is that a 'yes'?'

'It's a maybe. I am pretty hungry now…where's Derek?'

'I don't know. He should be back by now. I'm starting to get a bit worried.' Syd tripped out to fetch two bowls of soup.

There was something about the concept of Sydney worrying about Derek which toppled Nigel's fragile emotions over the edge into a bitter tirade. 'Oh, don't you worry about _him_. I'm sure Derek could keep up playing Robin Hood all night. Mugging Romans must be bread-and-butter to him. Giving half of it away to the poor may be a new one, but Derek's full of surprises, isn't he?'

Sydney, now outside and ladling the soup into two bowls, stopped dead. She didn't like what Nigel was driving at.

'Maybe he found some comely peasant girls who wanted to express their gratitude? I'm sure Derek's a regular machine in _every_ department. How does he measure up, eh, Syd?'

Sydney smothered the overwhelming desire to dump the pot of foul-smelling soup right over Nigel's head. Instead she stomped back to the door bowl-less, only to be greeted by a resentful glare of such heartfelt sincerity that she swallowed back even her forthcoming verbal battering.

Her reply was almost kind: 'Is this about earlier, Nigel?'

Nigel pouted. 'Not specifically.'

'Well, Derek hardly deserves this abuse, does he?'

'No.' Nigel laid back and let out a long, uneven breath, as if his bubble of anger had suddenly burst, leaving him utterly deflated. 'Hadn't you better go look for him?' he muttered.

'Not yet,' said Syd, decisively. 'If he's not back at first light, I'll think again. You and I might both have to leave if there is a chance this place will be discovered. Besides, Derek knew the risks when he set out. I won't leave you here alone. I don't want to.'

Nigel scanned her up and down. He'd been expecting more of a tongue-lashing over his little outburst, and was almost disappointed. He'd wanted the chance to tell her some 'home truths', although now he didn't quite feel quite strong enough for that either. Besides, Sydney was currently the one who looked unfamiliarly anxious, crouched by his side as if undecided about what to say or do next.

The firelight, seeping into the cabin, flickered on her face and hair, highlighting the undulating curves of her lips and cheekbones. She was so agonisingly beautiful he could chide her no more. Nigel shut his eyes again.

As he did so, Sydney's thoughts echoed his own, but were darkened by recent, painful memories. In the glimmering illumination, his still-fragile form had an ethereal quality that alarmed her, even as a look of relaxation seeped back across the features she adored.

'Nigel?'

Nigel opened his eyes suddenly, surprised by her urgent tone and the hand that clamped down purposefully on his wrist.

'What is it?'

'Nothing, Nigel. Shhh.' She felt her fingers caress the sensitive skin on his forearm and slip away.

Syd's odd behaviour was all rather disturbing to him. Had she sensed some bad guys with a longbow aimed at her head? Was she trying to lull them into a false sense of security before she flipped about into a knockout high-kick?

Nigel looked at her quizzically, and rather nervously, wondering if she would enlighten him with a whisper or a sign. Then he noticed the unfettered tears that were streaming down her face.

'Syd! What is it? Please…don't cry. Please…don't…' He lifted his arms to meet her desperate embrace.

Syd's voice was stifled by sobs. 'Don't ever leave me, Nigel, promise me…'

'I won't, Syd,' replied Nigel, unsure but hopeful, smoothing down her long hair. 'I'll be your assistant as long as you want me to be.'

Sydney pulled back and looked him straight in the eyes, her arms still looped around him, bringing the tears under control. 'Nigel Bailey, for such an intelligent guy, you can be darned unperceptive. God, the last few days have been the worst of my life…watching you lying there, not knowing really what was wrong, wondering if each shallow breath could be your last…I watched my mother die…the wound never heals. To loose you would have ripped my heart out …' She gave an ironic laugh. 'And you thought I spent the time fooling around with Derek? After you woke, it was the first time either of us smiled since we got here!'

The tears had returned for both of them. 'I'm so sorry Syd,' said Nigel quietly. 'It's just… watching the two of you laughing in the sunshine…it was difficult. And when you'd said you'd loved me…in the arena…I'd hoped…and then I felt so useless and inadequate…I didn't see how you could!' He buried his face in her shoulder, overcome by his emotions.

'I _meant_ it Nigel,' said Sydney, firmer now. 'I've known just how much I really loved you from the moment they first separated us, not knowing if you were alive or dead…I thought you realised! But I should have guessed how vulnerable you'd feel…after everything. Shhh. It's okay.' She hugged him tight for a second, until she felt his sobs ease, then continued: 'God, Nigel, surely you're well aware that flirting can be just another weapon to me? I flirted with Agroitus…I'd have flirted with Demetrius if it was the only way to have stopped him hurting you; I'm eternally grateful that violence alone did the trick!'

'I wish you'd slapped some sense into _me_ earlier,' said Nigel humbly, still pressed against her shoulder.

'Now you're being unfair on yourself… I was the one who didn't do what I should have. But we have another chance…'

Sydney nuzzled her face into the back of his neck. Her lips parted slightly and bestowed a tender kiss. 'I'm deadly serious now,' she purred. Nigel gave a little moan of surprised pleasure as her torrent of affection wound its way around to his lips, each kiss more sensuous than the last. He received her with a ravenous passion, entangling his fingers in her luminous hair, clasping her as tightly as he could.

'My God, Syd,' panted Nigel, coming up for air after as long a kiss as he could take. 'I don't know what you've done to me, but there certainly seems to be energy for _something_. I want to make mad, passionate love to you, all night!'

'Down boy!' giggled Sydney. 'Whatever happened to that famous English reserve?'

'I can't conform to every cultural stereotype, can I?' growled Nigel.

Sydney waggled a finger. 'I'm serious. Take it easy, Nigel. You could rupture something! Besides, it might not just be me making you happier. Crying produces feel-good hormones, you know.'

Nigel, who had entirely forgotten to be embarrassed, wiped away the remainder of his tears. 'Well, I seem to have turned on the waterworks more over the past few days than over the whole of the previous quarter of a century. If it makes me feel _this_ good, I think I might take it up on a regular basis!'

Syd laughed. 'I better go get that soup!'

Nigel grinned as he lay back against the pillow. His demeanour had been completely transformed, from desolate to positively jaunty, in the course of a single, but very rewarding, kiss.

'You know, Syd,' chirped Nigel, 'just about the only nice thing that has happened since we got here – until now of course - is that I've been able to tell several people that you're my wife. I liked that… and now you practically _are_ my wife! I've got you to wait on me hand and foot, indulge my every whim…' His smile widened as he sensed her cottoning on to the joke. It was time to push his luck. 'Aaah! It's nice to be back in the good old days of patriarchal society, before all that women's lib rubbish. At least the wenches know their place!'

Sydney appeared in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 'I'm going to have to hit you Nigel, _any second now_!'

………….

They didn't feast on Sydney's soup. She took one tentative mouthful and decided that it wouldn't do _her_ any good, let alone Nigel. Fortunately, there was some chewy, dry bread hanging around from earlier, and a little of the crumbly cheese and olives. They dined in the dancing firelight, and spiced the meal up with wine. The latter sent Nigel to sleep rather sooner than he would have wished.

Sydney snuggled up for the night under the blankets next to him, but the 'warm fuzzy feeling' that the evening had produced was becoming increasingly diluted by her apprehension about Derek. She knew he'd become a man with a mission in helping the local villagers – she'd positively encouraged him - but he'd _promised_ to be back soon with their dinner. She had started to trust Derek's word.

Moreover, she was niggled by what he had said to her about Nigel. Should she really have followed her heart as she had? Was it the best thing for either of them?

With the break of dawn, and only a little light sleep, she decided she'd better search for the missing special agent. She was loath to disturb Nigel, but didn't want him waking up alone, and she still wasn't even sure she could bring herself to leave him.

'Nigel, sweetheart…' She gave his shoulder a loving squeeze.

Nigel groaned sleepily, but after a moment he opened one eye. 'Morning, sweetcheeks!'

Sydney scowled playfully. 'No sweetcheeks, remember? I'm still boss around here when it comes to choosing pet names!'

Nigel yawned. 'You know, Syd, I could still do with about a weeks more sleep.' A thought then struck him. 'When did Derek get back?'

Sydney was now knelt at his feet, running a comb through her hair. 'That's why I woke you. He _didn't_ get back.' Concern for his friend flashed across Nigel's face. 'I'm going to go up as far as the nearest village,' continued Syd, 'and see if I can find anything out. I won't be more than an hour. You think you'll be okay?'

'I'll be fine, Syd.' Nigel sat up slowly. 'Maybe I shouldn't go back to sleep, though, just in case.'

Syd nodded affirmatively, and lifted his ankle into her lap, pulling the bandages tight. 'Do you think you can walk by yourself yet?'

Nigel shrugged. 'If it's not actually broken, and I've rested for three days, then I don't see why not?'

Sydney helped Nigel to his feet, steadied him while he gained his bearings, and then stepped cautiously away, primed to catch him. Nigel flinched slightly, and one hand flattened against the cabin wall, but he held fast.

'Okay?'

'Fine.' He lifted the supporting hand away and took a furtive step. 'There'll be no records in the hundred metres, but I'm just about mobile.'

Sydney took a deep breath. 'Good. I'll be as quick as I can. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if anybody comes, hide in the bushes.'

She handed him a tall stick, which Nigel scowled at, muttering something about crutches being more trouble than they're worth.

'Take it, Nigel. Indulge me.' Nigel received it, hobbled outside, and settled himself down on the dewy grass beside the door. Sydney wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, urged him to be vigilant, and handed him the shard of Hapshepsut's Eye.

'Keep it with you, just in case. We don't want to loose it.' Nigel tucked it in his belt. Sydney then planted a goodbye kiss on his lips, which was keenly returned.

'I'll be back soon,' she promised, regretting using the same words as Derek last had, even as she said them.

…………………………………………….

Nigel tried everything he could, but he was unable to keep his eyes open. He attempted reciting Latin verbs, and visualising hieroglyphs, but that didn't help. Then he tried to list, in order, all of the relics he'd found with Sydney. Unfortunately, he'd barely got past the lost crown of the last King of Ireland before his head lolled forward towards his chest and he nodded off.

He was woken not long after by a brusque kick to his shin.

'Ow! Bloody hell, Bluthus! ' Nigel clutched his leg. 'What did you do that for?'

'I'm terribly sorry,' said the Oxford Don, who now stood over him. 'It's just that last I saw you, you were, hmmmm … and I thought you might be…hmmm…'

'Dead?' offered Nigel helpfully. 'Corpses don't normally sit upright.'

'Hmmmmm… well, you're not at your most dapper, are you? The phrase 'death warmed up' springs to mind.'

'Thank you, how charming. ' Nigel squinted up at him, shielding his eyes against the rising sun. 'The words 'lying, fat warthog' spring to _my_ mind! Why did you tell Sydney I dropped the relic?'

'You did!' retaliated Bluthus. 'It was very clumsy!'

Nigel realised that the professor was just being supercilious and it wasn't worth arguing. 'What do you want?' he demanded. 'Sydney isn't here, so if you want to congratulate her on her _amazing_ academic record, you're out of luck.'

'Hhhmmm.' Bluthus sat himself down next to Nigel, who watched him sceptically. The old man looked strangely harrowed, but Nigel supposed it had been a trying few days, even for this faint-hearted fool.

'I wasn't the one who gave up on you, you know?' retorted Bluthus. 'The other two started digging your grave several times, but I implored them that there was hope.'

'I'm eternally grateful.' Nigel's reply dripped with sarcasm. 'Now are you going to tell me why you're here, or am I going to have to kick you all the way back to Nevium and feed you to those poor tigers?' Nigel delivered the words with some force, but they were greeted with a patronising snivel.

'Don't make me laugh, Nigel! But it's a shame you're in this mess. I hear that several Roman legions are coming through here tomorrow, bound for Britannia. Wouldn't it be wonderful, to march across ancient Europe, learning the languages, proving what we've hypothesised about, and ending up back in old Blighty?' Nigel curled his lip incredulously. 'If I was young like you - and not a physical wreck, of course - I'd jump at the chance.'

'No you wouldn't, Bluthus! You've never been a man for fieldwork - you're too much of a coward! And if you're not going to tell me why you're here, I might just have to hit you with my crutch!' It was a feebler sounding threat, but a more realistic one.

'Alright! Alright!' said Bluthus, genuinely worried that Nigel might follow through on his last warning. 'I just came because of my deep regard for you all, and to make sure you're being careful. Where is Professor Fox, anyway?' The last words were articulated just a little too keenly.

Nigel was suspicious, but found that an honest answer would suffice. 'I don't know exactly where she is. I don't really have much of a clue where _I_ am. I wasn't exactly taking notes on the way, was I?'

'Hhhhmmmm,' grumbled Bluthus. 'She will be back here later though, won't she?'

Nigel glanced warily at him. 'I _expect_ so.'

'And where's that shard of the relic she had?'

Nigel pulled the blanket tight around him, concealing what was tucked in his belt. 'I have _no_ idea. She must have taken it with her. Look, Bluthus, if you're thinking of betraying us, Sydney will show no mercy! She's a cruel, harsh woman, as you said - when it comes to people who deserve it!'

'No! No! I'm just concerned for _you_, my lad. Have you considered she might have left you here to…well, to die? I hate to say it, but while you were apparently breathing your last, she and that American agent were snogging like they were a couple of sloshed undergrads during freshers' week. She's a bad sort, Nigel. You might as well come away with me, as you'll probably never see _her _again…'

Bluthus never saw the blow coming. The left hook to his jaw sent him sprawling backwards, seated as he was.

'Oooof!' He shook his fist back at Nigel. 'That's that violent woman influencing you again!'

'No. That was one hundred percent pure Nigel Bailey. _Nobody_ repeatedly insults the woman I love and gets away with it.' He shook his painful fingers with a flourish and added: 'It's called chivalry, Bluthus. If you were a better historian, you would have read about it…'

With that, Nigel pulled himself up, picked up his crutch and, with something that approached a swagger, departed from the clearing.

………………………….

Not far away, Sydney Fox was running for her life through a burning village with half of the Nevium garrison on her tail. Her thoughts were in nearly as much chaos as the smouldering landscape. There was no sign of Derek, although she'd learnt on the road that he'd delivered goodies to the settlement yesterday, and then headed off. All she could see there now, however, was the ruin of hundreds of innocent people's homes and livelihoods. Was it her fault?

She dodged into a blazing storage barn, pulling burning straw and wreckage down behind her, and then dived out of a small back window. She landed with a roll and grabbed a fallen plank, its end alight. Hurling it like a javelin, the missile hit the leader of a line of approaching soldiers, toppling them like a row of dominoes.

'Can't take that heat, boys? Better lie down!'

Sydney fled. For now, she hardly cared about the devastation behind her. Her only thought was to get back to Nigel in the woods, and to pray that their secret hideaway had not been revealed

………………………..

**Thanks for reading. Please review. Go on! You've come this far...Katy x**


	15. new territories

**Disclaimers: As ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**This chapter was a nightmare to write! I hope you enjoy it…**

…………….

As Sydney crept back towards the clearing, peering through the trees, she had a hunch that something was not quite right. Nigel certainly wasn't sitting where she'd left him…

She paused before she emerged from the cover of the undergrowth, trying to sense any source of danger.

Nothing obvious was amiss. She moved a swift couple of steps forward, but was halted abruptly when a hand shot out from a bush and grabbed her ankle.

Her sword raised as a reflex as Sydney grabbed for her assailant with the intention of pulling them from their hiding place and striking. All that was forthcoming, however, was a warm blanket under which was hiding…

'Nigel!'

'My God, Syd!' he seethed. 'Who the bloody hell did you think it was? You _told_ me to hide in the bushes…what were you going to do? Chop me in half?'

'Of course not,' said Syd, half convincingly. She lowered her weapon and picked up on his hushed tone. 'Why did you try and trip me up?'

'I wasn't trying to trip you up,' whispered Nigel, crawling out of the niche he had found in the foliage. He had several twigs stuck in his hair. 'I was trying to stop you going back to the cabin.'

'Why? Are there soldiers?' Sydney crouched down so be at the same level as her assistant and brushed off the twigs and some dirt from his tunic. She couldn't help wondering quite how he'd managed to get in a mess again so quickly.

'Bluthus came sniffing around,' explained Nigel. 'I think he came alone, but I didn't trust him. Besides, anyone could have followed him here.'

'Did you speak to him?'

Nigel rolled his eyes. 'Oh yes. We had a delightful conversation. That man is enough to drive _anyone _to violence!'

Sydney read between the lines: 'Did you hit him, Nigel?'

Nigel shrugged, a naughty smile flickering on his lips. 'I might have done.'

Syd patted him on the back. 'Good work!' Nigel's smile grew rapidly into a grin, but they both realised they had not time to rest on their laurels. Nigel caught the grim look in Sydney's eyes, beneath her pleasure in seeing him, which communicated that she'd had little luck on her trip.

'No sign of Derek, then?'

'No. Just dozens of Agroitus' men, plundering and burning, and very keen to spend some quality time with me! There is another settlement a couple of miles off where Derek might have gone. We better try there next.'

'_We_?' Nigel looked at her wearily. 'I suppose this is the bit where you drag me at breakneck speed through the woods, despite the fact I can barely hobble?'

Sydney grimaced apologetically. 'I'm afraid so. You can't stay if there is a chance this place will be discovered. At least nobody is yet on our tail, as far as we know…' Sydney stood up and again surveyed the area, checking all seemed clear. She then reached down to haul Nigel to his feet.

As she did so, however, Nigel yanked his arm out her grip. 'Uh uh. I'm not _just_ your assistant now. I won't do it unless I get a kiss!'

Syd's eyes widened with amusement. It had occurred to her that admitting her feelings for Nigel would change the dynamics of their relationships. This blackmail on his part, however, was unforeseen, if not entirely unattractive.

After a moment of pondering, Syd agreed with a giggle. 'Okay, Nigel.' She leant down and pecked him on the cheek.

Nigel pouted petulantly. 'It won't do! I want a proper kiss, Syd.'

Sydney kissed him on the lips, and he returned the favour. 'Is that good enough?'

Nigel, still savouring the moment, licked his lips and nodded. He was rather blown away by his success. Would she kiss him every time he demanded it?

'Now come on. Derek might need us.'

Nigel took her arm, and his crutch, and started on his arduous journey with his best semblance of enthusiasm.

………………

Sydney experienced pangs of conscience, much stronger than she had ever felt on previous occasions, for dragging an ailing Nigel through the woods. It was not helped by the matter that he was quieter and less complaining than usual.

She couldn't help remembering that it was barely a day since she'd feared for his life, and that the exertion could hardly be doing him any favours. Besides, something else had changed. The vague and unarticulated sentiments of the past had become crystal clear. Nigel was infinitely precious to her.

Nevertheless, as they reach the bottom of a steep bank that led up towards the road, Nigel decided enough was enough. He tugged her arm and said: 'You've got to be kidding?'

'Sorry, Nigel. It's the only way.'

Nigel sank exhausted onto for a comfy-looking bed of leaves and moss. 'Just give me a minute.'

He looked fully ready to sleep for several hours. 'Okay, but _just_ a minute.' Syd lay down next to him, resting her chin on one hand, and letting the fingers of the other wander fondly over his chest. Through the thin fabric, it felt to Nigel like she was touching his bare flesh. It tickled but was oddly relaxing.

This is nice, thought Sydney, but they could not linger.

After about thirty seconds, she tapped his cheek and tilted his face towards her, causing his eyes to snap unwillingly open . 'Sorry, Nigel, but your time's up. We've got to go.'

Nigel looked at her pleadingly. 'Syd! That wasn't even a minute.' He yawned as she offered another of her new apologetic expressions. 'You're going to have to offer me some more motivation. Make the spirit willing, and all that…'

'Okay, Nigel.' She stood up and brushed down her clothes. 'Derek could be in trouble.'

'Yes. I know…' said Nigel, now guiltily, through gritted teeth. 'I'm motivating myself, I'm really trying!' He didn't move.

'There are snakes in this part of France!'

Nigel raised himself on his elbows optimistically. 'This is helping. Poisonous ones?'

'Adders. They can give you a nasty nip.' Nigel nodded keenly, and sat up.

'And, of course, there is always that enormous spider crawling up your leg!'

'Where? Aaargh!' Nigel shook his leg violently - fortunately the good one -, as Sydney swept off the offending beastie. He then managed the closest thing he could to jumping to his feet and leant forward against Sydney with a groan.

'Motivated?' asked Syd.

'As much as ever,' lamented Nigel, dropping his forehead down onto her shoulder. 'Why me, Sydney? Why is it _always_ me??'

'I don't know Nigel, I really don't,' replied Syd, shaking her head in bafflement as she fondled the back of his hair. 'You do seem to have some sort of magnetic attraction to menace, don't you?'

Nigel raised his head and stared at her blearily as she announced inspiritingly: 'Come on! We've got a bank to climb!'

………

They hit the road to the village soon after the struggle up the bank and skirted along its wooded edges, keeping under cover where they could.

They heard and smelt the village, long before it was in sight. The pungent odour of smoke and burning filled the air, mingled with the cries of women, men and children. It was obvious that Agroitus' soldiers were carrying out their dirty work, avenging the stolen wine and treats, and looking for the 'warrior princess.'

'You'd better stay here,' whispered Sydney to Nigel, as they crouched down, still in the foliage.

'Where are _you_ going?' asked Nigel, concerned. 'You can't take them _all_ on.'

'I'll be careful. We need to find out about Derek, don't we? And I might just be able to help those people…'

'I don't appreciate being dumped in the bushes every five minutes, you know?' hissed Nigel. 'What about the spiders and the snakes? There might be wild boar as well. Very nasty!' In truth, he feared as much for her safety as his own

'Better than Roman soldiers, eh? Stay undercover.' Nigel opened his mouth to protest, but she squeezed his knee and was gone.

'Great!' thought Nigel. 'What if she gets captured too?'

This thought was motivation enough. His contributions to her fights were slight, but he was quietly aware they were often pivotal. While he had no chance of catching up with her, he decided to must strive in the direction of the commotion. Nigel began stumbling from tree to tree, wondering whether or not to ditch the hated crutch, which had been getting tangled in brambles and roots all day.

He soon reached a cluster of small, mud cabins, not unlike their accomodation in the forest. The soldiers had obviously been there recently: fire was rapidly spreading between their thatched roofs. Nobody seemed to be around apart from a confused looking donkey, standing out of harm's way in the middle of the muddy track that constituted a street.

Nigel was about to move on towards the centre of the action, when, to his horror, he heard a wailing noise. Peeping out from behind a tree, the sound came again – unmistakably that of a baby or small child. It originated in a cabin, the roof of which was just starting to kindle with flames. Still nobody else was about. The donkey, however, spotted Nigel and stared intently at him, its ears pointing in his direction accusingly.

'Oh hell!' thought Nigel. 'This is becoming like a bad TV movie…or Spiderman!'

He limped out from the undergrowth, and headed towards the source of the childish shrieks. Casting aside the meddlesome crutch and covering his mouth and nose with his arm, he plunged into the smoke-filled room.

A dark-mopped little girl was huddled in a corner, squealing morosely. Nigel tried to coax her out with his best Latin, but realised it was no good. She obviously only understood another dialect, and he had no time to dredge one up from his memory, even if he knew it at all. Besides, she was too scared to move. He scooped her up in his arms, and ran back out into the street, necessarily taking in a large lungful of smoke and jamming his ankle in the process.

Things did not improve thereafter, as he ran smack into a posse of Roman soldiers, who had, unseen to Nigel, rounded the corner as he ran into the smouldering house. Nigel deposited the girl on her feet - she promptly ran off, still wailing - and then crumpled to his knees, so consumed with violent coughing that he could do nothing as the soldiers surrounded him. They were dressed rather differently to the others he had seen, in smart red tunics, with elaborate armour. One of them held a standard with the Imperial eagle. They looked down at him dubiously.

Nigel's trepidation grew as the coughs subsided, and he managed to wheeze: 'please, make it quick.'

However, a firm but not aggressive hand was laid upon his shoulder. Nigel glanced up, half expecting to see Derek. His disappointment, when he saw that it wasn't his friend, was countered by the thought that to be rescued by him _again_, especially when in such a state, would have erred towards an embarrassing habit.

Instead, the hand belonged to a legionnaire, rather older than the others, who regarded Nigel benevolently. His breastplate and helmet were richly decorated with carvings of eagles and lions, and his cloak was embroidered with gold thread. All of this indicated to Nigel that he was a General.

'That was a very brave thing you just did, my son.'

'Blame the donkey,' stuttered Nigel, gathering his breath and not feeling very courageous. 'It _made_ me do it!'

As Nigel choked again, the foot soldiers exchanged amused glances, wondering if they'd stumbled across the village idiot.

The lead soldier took hold of the 'hero of the moment' by the crook of his arm and raised him to his feet, taking note of Nigel's apparently sickly state. 'Did Agroitus and his men do all this damage? To the village? To you?'

Nigel nodded, not keen, or indeed possessing enough puff, to go into details.

Nigel's new found friend turned to his men. 'The consul must be removed! This used to be a prosperous area in which the peasants were contented. His plundering the countryside and the people is doing nothing for the glory of Rome! Caesar will not tolerate a costly rebellion…'

Nigel peered up at the man curiously. 'You're going to depose Agroitus Poccolus? Who _are _you?'

The commander puffed his chest out with pride 'My name is Valerius Pollio, commander of the tenth legion of Appollonius. Poccolus used his unworldly powers to destroy my name and ruin my career when I dared to challenge his despotism and unnatural powers in the senate. He caused the enslavement of me and my family. While I purchased back my own freedom, he still possesses my only daughter, Lydia.'

'Oh,' said Nigel, recalling the pretty, caramel-haired slave-girl who had helped them at Agroitus's villa. 'I think I might have met her…'

The general's face lit up and he replaced both his hands on Nigel's shoulders, keen for information: 'You have? Was she well?'

'Yes…I think so. I'm sure she wouldn't mind a bit of rescuing though!'

'I have risen to military power partially to accomplish that! I brought my legions through here a day early, on the start of our march north, in order to assess whether to strike now or wait until our glorious return. For now, I fear we must wait. The power of the consul is too great and the people, even the citizens of Nevium, are too scared to rise against him. If I had a figurehead to rally the people behind it would be different. But who?'

Nigel raised his chin, pushed back his shoulders and announced with pride: 'I think I know of just such a person!'

The soldiers stared at him, and one whispered to his companion: 'He's _definitely_ the village idiot!'

Nigel glared at his denigrator, but nevertheless instructed their leader: 'follow me!'

………………..

'Master! Master! Success!'

As his henchman ran jubilantly through the door, Agroitus leapt to his feet in anticipation, sending the unfortunate serving girl who had been attending to his needs sprawling onto the X-rated mosaic on the floor.

'You've got her? You've got the 'warrior princess'?'

'No… but we've got the one they call 'Maximus'!'

'Oh,' said Agroitus, disappointedly, sinking back upon his couch, and beckoning the quivering wench. 'How dull! Is he dead?'

'No. Quite alive. He nearly did for several of my men, though! And the villagers positively cheered him on. '

'Oh,' repeated Agroitus, disinterested. 'Well you'd better lock him up while I consider which oyster spoon to use for his demise. I don't suppose he'll lure the 'warrior princess' to us. She tired of her last piece of totty soon enough!'

He leered mournfully as the unwilling serving girl began to massage his shoulders

'Whatever became of that fat-faced old man who promised he could deliver them to us? Has he come back yet or should I send someone out to hunt him down as well?'

'We found him skulking out of the forest, heading for the hills. Would you like to speak to him or should he be disposed of?'

'I suppose he _may_ be of more use. Keep him alive for now. Anything else to report?'

'Just rumours, sire. The legions bound for Brittania have been sighted in the area already. They say they are under the command of the new hero of the recent Egyptian campaign, Valerius Pollio!'

Agroitus nearly jumped from his seat again but contained himself, even as the servant girl felt his shoulders clench with extreme tension.

'You must say nothing of this in my household, you understand!' he shouted at the surprised henchman. Tugging roughly a lock of the girl's hair, he admonished her equally: 'And that goes for you, slave! Not a word to the other girls…or else!'

……………..

When Nigel and his party reached the middle of the village, Sydney was nowhere to be seen. The villagers were running to and fro in panic, pursued by Agroitus' raiders with spears and burning torches.

'Where are you, Syd?' muttered Nigel anxiously. He was unsure whether he had done the right thing in allying himself with the general. Besides, if the 'warrior princess' he had promised was not forthcoming, they really would think he was a fool.

Then his vision of loveliness emerged from a burning hut, a wailing infant under either arm. Choking delicately at the effects of the smoke, Sydney gracefully deposited her charges with their fretful parent. She then spun into a devastating high kick, which contacted with the chin of a sneaking soldier, who had seen the mother as an easy picking, and sending him flying.

'Who is she?' asked Valerius in awe.

'My wife!' announced Nigel proudly, as the jaws of the soldiers around him dropped.

Sydney, who hadn't yet seen the new arrivals, had sprung into battle with another group of aggressors. They surrounded her with vicious intent, and she was kicking and punching them off. Nigel suddenly realised that she didn't even have a sword to defend herself with. She must have thrown it down when she rescued the children.

'Aren't you going to help her?' pleaded Nigel. His new friends were all still gawping at Sydney, obviously enjoying the sight of a beautiful woman in combat, but not yet involved enough to actually want to help her.

'Sod you!' muttered Nigel. 'Do I have to do everything myself?'

Sydney's assailants were now closing in, swiping at her with their beacons of fire. Without a weapon, she could maintain no distance between them. She desperately dodged and dived the scorching truncheons, as the fur on her outfit singed.

Nigel looked about for something to help her, but saw nothing obvious. Then a thought struck him.

'Syd! Here!' Sydney registered Nigel's presence, and caught the crutch he lobbed in her direction, almost simultaneously.

'Thanks, Nigel!'

They shared a grin as she swung her new weapon, felling the encircling soldiers as it whacked each on the shins. They blundered about on the floor, avoiding the bite of their own flaming torches.

Syd looked down on them with breathless disdain: 'What did I tell you guys about playing with fire? It always trips you up somehow!'

Impressed finally, Nigel's tardy companions dashed to her aid.

……………..

'Let me get this straight,' said Sydney. There was a strained smile on her face that would have told those who knew her that she wasn't pleased. 'You want _me_ to rally the people for an attack on the city of Nevium and help you depose the consul?'

Sydney had barely cooled down from the heat of battle before this proposition was put to her by Valerius.

'Your husband suggested you would be just the person!'

Nigel, who was sat leaning against one of the non-burnt huts a little way off, winced sheepishly at the force of Sydney's displeased glare. 'Oh, he did, did he?' she retorted. 'Would you mind if I had a word with _my husband_ in private?'

She stormed over to her assistant and erstwhile lover. 'What the hell have you been getting me into?'

Nigel was little abashed. 'It seemed like a good idea at the time, Sydney. After all, if we need to get back into Nevium, get to the tower, and rescue Derek - if he needs rescuing -, it can't help to have an army on our side, can it?'

'Yes, but is it an army we want to be associated with? How do we know that this guy is any better than Agroitus? You heard all that 'glory of Rome' trash. We could be chopping off one gorgon's head and allowing another just as evil to grow in its place!'

Nigel shrugged and languidly pushed his fingers through his hair. 'He can't be any worse, can he? He at least shows some sort of concern for the locals, even if it is just to keep the Empire prosperous and peaceful. And he does want to rescue Lydia…that's better than the lustful whims of Agroitus, isn't it?'

A wavering of Syd's steely expression indicated her partial agreement.

'But it's up to you, Syd,' continued Nigel. 'I don't want you to do it if you think it's too dangerous. The last thing I need is for _you_ to get hurt. I just wanted things to be as easy as possible…for a change. I'm just so bloody tired of everything!'

Nigel really did look shattered and Syd's anger with him faded quickly. She knelt down and wiped a smudge of soot from his face, while he brushed down the now-singed fur that edged her outfit.

'How did you manage to get so grimy, Nigel? I thought you'd stay away from the fires?'

Nigel gave an ironic laugh. 'There were screaming kiddies to be rescued on the other side of town as well, you know.'

'Really? You're getting to be a bit of a hero, aren't you? I thought I told you to hide in the bushes?'

'Believe me, Syd, I'd much rather have stayed there… this has hardly been the most peaceful week of my quiet little teaching job.' He added wryly: 'and that's saying something! Most weeks have been rather lively, haven't they?'

'You know, Nigel, I guess they have. But, hey, look on the bright side. There must be a truly great journal paper in all of this! History has usually been written by the kings and the generals. Now we really have seen it from the other side…'

'I guess so,' said Nigel, still tired and lamenting. 'What _don't_ I now know about the more unpleasant aspects of culture in the Ancient World!'

Sydney lent back against the hut beside him, and was happily surprised as Nigel snuck his arm around her waist. She felt the warmth of his nervously wriggling fingers as they found their rest against the coolness of her skin, which was exposed around her back where the loosely stitched furs did not reach. Her own arm slipped around him, and they shuffled closer together. They shared a look: this was nice…but it still felt slightly odd.

Nigel asked: 'So, what do we do now?'

Sydney narrowed her eyes, wondering whether he was talking about 'us' or 'the plan': 'I don't know, Nigel,' she replied ambiguously. 'But my gut is telling me we should go with the flow… maybe at long last the tides turned in our direction.'

Nigel agreed, assuming the reply was about their Roman soldier predicament, rather than their romantic entanglement.

'So maybe we should stick with Valerius for now,' continued Syd, picking up on his assumption. 'But it's going to be on _my_ terms. I'll want to lay down a few ground rules, make a few conditions…'

'Me too!' Sydney looked at Nigel quizzically as he explained emphatically 'I'm sick to death of looking like the next virgin sacrifice. For God's sake, I'm a grown man! I _really_ want some new clothes!'

………………

Nigel emerged from the hut with a delighted smile on his face. He was kitted out in a red legionnaire's tunic and a smart leather belt with leather straps hanging down.

'What do you think, Syd? Does it suit me? He limped in a circle, displaying his new costume from every possible angle. 'The breastplate was a bit heavy…but I'll put it on in a minute.'

'Nigel, you look great!' gushed Sydney. 'Not many guys could look so cute in a leather miniskirt!'

Nigel smile vanished and he frowned reproachfully.

'It's not a bloody miniskirt. It's the outfit of a genuine, mean fighting machine! You really know how to deflate a guy when he's trying to restore his wounded masculinity, don't you!'

Nigel stopped complaining, despite maintaining a sulky countenance, when Sydney gathered him into an embrace.

'Don't scowl, Nigel. You look every inch my knight in shining armour!' Syd kindly overlooked the fact he hadn't actually put on any armour yet.

This time, Nigel beamed, radiating boyish charm. 'Thanks, Syd. As ever, _you_ look stunning: my beautiful warrior princess!'

Nigel pulled her into a pervasive kiss, tender and passionate, which lingered as they melted into each others clasp.

Eventually, however, Sydney lips brushed away from his and she gazed lovingly into his eyes as he yearned for more. 'That was amazing', she thought, 'he's adorable and when he kisses me the world does a backflip…but I just can't help what I'm about to say!'

She flattered her eyelashes and smiled coyly.

'So, Nigel. Will my brave, chivalrous Knight be leading the charge into Nevium this afternoon, in order to woo the heart of his maiden fair?'

Nigel stared at her aghast. She _was_ joking, right?

'Umm, I'd love to, Syd,' he stammered, 'but, err, you know…ladies first!'

……………………

Few people were kept in Agroitus' prison. Justice under the consul of Nevium was fast, brutal and generally fatal. At this time, however, the dungeon was unusually full. Two inmates stared daggers at each other from opposite cells, which, despite their rare occupation, matched each other in their stench and filth.

'If you've betrayed them, Bluthus,' said Derek matter-of-factly, 'or if you've got any intention of doing so, these iron bars aren't going to be enough to stop me from breaking right through and snapping your flabby, worthless neck!'

Bluthus merely mumbled 'hhhhmmmm' and muttered something about 'uncivilised Americans.'

The deadlock of threats and rumbling was broken after a while by the arrival of Agroitus himself. The consul strode into the prison alone, dismissed the guard and then hurried straight over to Bluthus.

'Where are they then?'

Derek hadn't a clue what Agroitus said, but guessed well enough that Bluthus was collaborating. 'I knew it, you lousy sonofabitch,' he yelled and rattled the bars in vain.

'I couldn't find her!' stuttered Bluthus, 'honestly, consul. But she will be at the Tour Magne tomorrow afternoon, I promise you…'

'Will she? And what about the powerful Egyptian relic you promised me? And the missing piece of Hapshepsut's Eye? Will they be there too?' He leaned in close to the bars. 'I confess, old man, I have a need for their power now more than ever before. If you are true to your word and help me, I may make you a citizen.'

Agroitus stepped away. 'But, if you fail, my friend. You will, of course, die in an excruciatingly painful manner, just like the 'grunting goon' here!'

Bluthus quivered, his conscience and nerves in a quandary. 'I won't fail you, master!' he murmered timorously.

'Tomorrow afternoon, then, comrade,' replied Agroitus. He swept from the jail, his every thought bent on destroying his enemies and the myth of the 'warrior princess' forever.

……………………..

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	16. heroes and maidens

**Disclaimers: as ever. And I might have nicked a line somewhere from a well-know English playwright and the odd famous sci-fi movie.**

**Thanks for the reviews! **

………………………….

As Sydney galloped back towards the fields where Valerius had made his camp, she felt very grateful that she'd laid down her own conditions for the forthcoming expedition.

There was simply _no way_ she was going to lead an army of these poor, benighted villagers to storm the city. She'd ridden around all the outlying settlements. While the people greeted her with open arms, most shied away at the thought of open battle. Who could blame them? They were not trained soldiers, or even fighters like she was. A few brave men volunteered, but even she couldn't muster an army for that afternoon.

On the other hand, while half of her wanted to run away with Nigel and at least _try_ to get home the 'quiet' way, her conscientious side was reawakened to her promise to repay Lydia. After all, without the girl's help she may never have escaped from Agroitus in the first place and Nigel could be…well, it didn't bear thinking about. They could _both_ be dead. Besides, Syd had always been a sucker for the sentimental pull of family ties – even those of people she hardly knew. Her empathy with familial love had led her to search for relics way out of her usual remit: a baseball glove, even Elvis's lost guitar. Equally, she wanted to reunite Lydia with her Dad.

Surely there was some plan through which _everything_ could come right?

Sydney dismounted and expressed her anxieties to the general.

'How about some sort of Trojan horse?' she suggested. Valerius frowned, unhappy at her apparent lack of faith in his military schemes. 'It hasn't been tried for a few centuries. Then we could get your men and me inside the city without a fight.'

'Maybe,' he said. 'But it will take some weeks to build, and I have urgent business in Britannia.'

'I've got a fairly pressing appointment tomorrow too,' agreed Sydney, well aware of her imminent rendezvous with Veronica. 'I think I'll have a word with my assistant…err, my husband about this. Can you show me to our tent?'

'Of course!' said the general. 'On your request, I gave him the very best. My own!'

……………………….

Sydney expected Nigel to be asleep, so she crept into the large goat-skin tent without a sound. Her jaw dropped nearly to the floor at the sight that greeted her.

Nigel was lying on a coach, mildly embarrassed but not entirely unhappy, entwined in the arms of a particularly sizable, blonde and buxom peasant girl. Despite being surrounded by numerous cushions and plush fabrics, his head was resting comfortably upon her most obvious assets. A second, much slighter, maiden was perching next to them. She was dressed in robe of pure white with flowers woven in her loose flowing hair. Her behaviour, however, was far from virginal: she was stroking the outside of Nigel's thigh, whilst popping juicy red grapes between his lips from a platter of fresh fruits.

Catching sight of Sydney, a look of sheer panic crossed Nigel's face.

'Oh God! Syd…this isn't what it seems! They just kind of turned up…and I was trying to learn their dialect but, we, err, appear to be having a bit of a communication problem.'

'So that's what you call it, is it Nigel?' Sydney concealed her amusement at his fluster with mock anger. 'Surely you've worked out the word for 'no'?'

'Um, yes…but they won't take 'no' for an answer!' Nigel tried to extract himself from the girl's embrace. Reluctant to relinquish her delectable quarry, the substantially proportioned wench held him fast and promptly began to curl a lock of his light brown hair around her finger.

'See what I mean?' said Nigel, exasperated.

Sydney folded her arms and fixed the girls with a steely gaze that meant 'hands off, he's mine' in any language. Well aware of the reputation of the 'warrior princess,' they sighed and began reluctantly unravelling themselves from Nigel, their fingers lingering on the object of their affection for as long as possible.

'Time's up, ladies!' Sydney, patience growing thin, took a firm hold of the loitering girls and yanked them away. The smaller one hurtled on cue to the other side of the tent, but the larger lass, who was blessed with a charmingly pronounced overbite, did not budge.

'Girder's rather, umm, stubborn,' muttered Nigel, as the two women's fiery eyes locked together.

'_Girder_? You're on first name terms?' said Sydney, not quite incredulously.

'Yes…well, the conversation was limited, but we got _that_ far…'

Syd was about to kick Girder unceremoniously from the tent - or at least try to do so - when it occurred to her that the strapping countrywoman was the closest thing she'd seen to a natural warrior all day. She could be of use. Rather than 'upping the anti', Syd smiled benevolently and tried amicable persuasion.

'Girder, my friend,' she articulated with exaggerated chumminess. 'Would you wait _outside_ for a bit?' She pointed to the opening of the tent in case of language difficulties.

Girder's initial awe at the sight of the famed 'warrior princess' was fading fast. This dark haired beauty was not nearly as big as she was! She pointed at Nigel and pursed her voluptuous lips doggedly.

'Want boy! Nice! Mine!' Girder's preternaturally low bellow echoed around the tent.

'See what I mean!' hissed Nigel, grasping a cushion in front of him for protection. 'She's impossible!'

Syd ignored him and laughed appeasingly. 'Yes, Nigel's very _nice_, isn't he? Maybe we can share…later?'

With a hefty shove, she shifted the bulk that was Girder to the exit and, with an affirming cry of 'later!' booted her out of the door.

The withering look she gave Nigel said it all: 'what is it with some women! You're _mine_.'

……………………….

Nigel could barely believe his rapidly improving luck when the position formerly occupied by Girder was swiftly filled by Sydney. She cuddled up on the couch behind him.

'Any joy?' Nigel asked. He rolled onto his back, still enfolded in Syd's arms, so he could fully enjoy the sight, as well as the feel, of her.

'Not really,' said Sydney, resuming Girder's little game with his hair. 'We'll never be able to storm the city, or even lay siege, without risking too many lives. We need some other way of getting inside the walls and confronting Agroitus. I'm working on it, but I was wondering if you had any ideas?'

Nigel frowned as he gave the matter thought and carelessly reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb. It felt such a natural thing to do, with her holding him as she was, even though it still seemed a bit naughty. Syd didn't seem to object, though. A soft smile wavered on her lips.

The moment was broken when Nigel, as if waking from a dream, suddenly said: 'Oh, I _might_ have an idea...'

Syd's eyes widened. 'I'm all ears. I'm yet to think of a plan myself that we can organise in less than a day!'

'Well, I was talking to the other girl, Girder's little companion … well, trying to… and I discovered that she is going into the city tomorrow along with one of the other village maidens. They will be presenting wreaths as part of a ceremony dedicated to Vesta, the goddess of the hearth. The consul is bound to be there. So maybe you could take her place and…'

Sydney frowned playfuly: 'Nigel...you seem to be able to understand an awful lot that those girls said when you want to!'

'Well I understood _them_ alright, _they_ were having the problems. Maybe it was my accent…'

She laughed. 'Never mind, Nigel. I think it's a great idea. I can take the girls place in the parade, challenge the consul in public, undermine his power and rally the citizens behind Valerius! And I have a good idea which peasant girl I should take with me…'

'Girder!' interrupted Nigel. '_She's_ enough to scare anybody. That giantess will have Agroitus quaking in his boots!' Nigel giggled at the mental image. 'You and Girder are going to be the least convincing Vestal virgins in all the ancient world!'

Syd feigned shock. 'What the hecks that supposed to mean?'

'Umm,' stammered Nigel, 'I mean, err, _you,_ at least, are so gorgeous that there is no way anyone would believe some man wouldn't have …well, err, oh.' Nigel stopped dead, wishing he'd kept quiet.

'Do go on! Where _is_ your gutter-dwelling little English mind going with this one, I wonder? Some man would have _what_?'

Nigel, now deeply uncomfortable, ran his hand across his face. 'Oh God, Syd,' he moaned, 'as if you don't bloody know! It is _unthinkable_ that hundreds of men would not have begged for the privilege to…to…' He uncovered his face and looked up at her earnestly: 'it is inconceivable that hundreds of men haven't pleaded for the honour of worshipping at your altar for all eternity and of making mad, passionate love to you all night.'

With this, he clasped her face tenderly and eased her momentarily speechless lips towards his, plunging in for the longest, most lingeringly luxurious kiss yet.

'I may be in the gutter,' murmured Nigel as he surfaced for air. 'But at least I am looking at the stars.'

'You've never been in the gutter, my angel,' purred Sydney, wondering why she'd ever chided him so. 'But you kiss like a demon!'

Nigel grinned naughtily. 'Ah, well. _Neither_ of us are Vestal virgins you know…'

Just then, there was a grunt and a rustle in the entrance of the tent, and Girder's toothy and impatient face peeped between the goat-skin sheets.

Syd screwed up her nose in disappointment. 'I guess I'd better go make friends with my fellow innocent beauty,' said Syd. 'Do you want to help?'

'Umm, I think we're friendly enough already.' As the rush of reviving passion passed, the now familiar look of weariness returned to Nigel's face and he yawned. 'Do you mind if I grab forty winks?'

Sydney smiled sympathetically. 'You go ahead. I'll keep your little fan-club at bay!' Acutely aware Nigel was still an invalid, she climbed off the couch and covered him with a plush embroidered blanket. 'I'll be back soon…I won't wake you, though.'

'Please do, Syd,' said Nigel dreamily. 'I'll be fine…and I want to _enjoy_ our last evening together in the ancient world…with you.'

'So do I, Nigel,' whispered Sydney, 'more than anything,' but her words were lost. His steady, heavy breathing indicated to her that he was already asleep.

…………………

Nigel woke up first the next morning. Sunlight seeped through the fabric of the tent, filling his soul with a radiant joy before he'd even focussed his eyes upon the world.

When he did, for a second his ecstasy was limitless. Sydney was still there, lying next to him on her front, her slumbering face turned towards him and her luxuriant hair flowing over her bare, bronzed shoulders.

His peace, however, was short lived. All too soon, a foreboding fear swelled from the pit of his stomach and overwhelmed him. Today they would triumph in glory and go home to the twenty-first century, or they would fail and die. As he shut his eyes again, the optimist in him struggled in vain for supremacy over the endless nag of his physical and mental pain.

'At least,' he whispered to himself, 'we had last night.'

……………………..

When Syd awoke, Nigel's fears abated a little. She was composed and confident, laughing and joking with him and the General, although he discerned that, deep inside, there were probably a few well-smothered butterflies. Moreover, his concern for Syd's safety on her dangerous mission was such that he was not at all happy when she suggested he should stay behind while she attended to the business in the city.

'What do you mean, I'm staying here?' objected Nigel, still reclining on his coach in their tent, which he had become rather attached to. 'I've got to get 'back to the future' as well, you know? Besides, who's going to watch _your_ back while you publicly clobber the consul!'

'Well, I suppose we can have _three_ Vestal virgins, if you're desperate.' Syd raised her eyebrows teasingly as Nigel glared at her. 'You'll have to wear a longer skirt than you are now, I dare say.'

'No. There's absolutely _no way_ I'm doing that,' spluttered Nigel, despite wondering if this was just a ploy to make him stay. 'And will you stop being rude about my Roman soldier outfit? I bet you never made jokes about Derek in his faux-macho furs, even through he looked like Tarzan as dressed by John-Paul Gaultier!'

Sydney smirked, but Nigel still wasn't satisfied. 'Why can't I sneak in with the soldiers while you cause the diversion?'

'It's just too dangerous, Nigel!'

'I don't care,' said Nigel, lying very slightly. 'Besides, if I can't be of use to you, I can find the jailhouse and rescue Derek.'

Sydney was both surprised and amused. 'Nigel, am I going to have to tie you up?'

A naughty smile flickered on Nigel's lips. 'Is that an offer…?' It vanished again just as quickly. 'Look, Syd, joking aside, I'm not staying and that's an end to it.'

Sydney was unsure how to counter Nigel's uncharacteristic resolution, so she conceded: 'Okay, Nigel. You sneak in with the soldiers while we cause a diversion. If you get separated from them, or anything goes wrong, just get back to the tower and see if Veronica will let you go home. You still have the shard of Hatshepsut's Eye?'

'Oh…um, hold on.'

It had slipped out of his belt, and Nigel rummaged frantically through the blankets and cushions while Sydney held her breath. 'Thank God. Here it is!'

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'Take care of it, okay? And take care of yourself.'

She sat down on the coach next to him and they pressed their lips together longingly, their emotions saturated by the pain of an uncertain goodbye.

'_You_ take care, Syd,' whispered Nigel. 'I love you…'

'The feeling's mutual, Nigel,' smiled Sydney, her determination swallowing her sentiment. 'See you soon.'

………………………

It was a good plan. In the midday sunshine, Sydney and Girder approached the city clad in scanty white robes, low cut and loose, with thin veils over their faces. The disguise was enough, Syd hoped, to stop anyone recognising the 'warrior princess' too soon. With flowers in their hair and bouquets in their arms, they shed laughter and petals in all directions. The citizens cheered and shouted and Sydney discovered that the wolf-whistle was a well established part of Roman culture.

The guards on the gate were a pushover. Although primed to let in the Vestal virgins without a question, they hadn't expected to have quite so many 'favours' bestowed upon them by such well-developed and attractive ladies. Rather than attending vigilantly to the rest of their duties, they took the proffered hands of the 'innocent maidens', and were willingly drawn along the crowd-lined streets by the stars of the show. They were having far too much fun, drooling over their companions and leering superiorly at the bystanders, to notice the small group of men – their armour and weapons disguised beneath villager's smocks- slipping through the gate at the back of the frivolous parade.

Girder grinned like a Cheshire cat - she was _really_ enjoying herself - while Sydney beamed and simpered nervously through gritted teeth. The crowd loved the curvaceous 'virgins'. Syd figured they would be putty in her hand when they realised she was also their favourite 'warrior princess'. But it couldn't be this easy, could it?

………………

Meanwhile, Nigel was a man on a mission. He wanted to help Syd, but everything was going so well there that he hoped he had time to carry out one important task before she faced her showdown with the consul. He wanted to rescue Derek. Moreover, he had a burning desire, counteracting his usual caution, to do it all by himself.

Slipping away from the other disguised soldiers, he asked directions to the jailhouse from a toothless old woman, who complied after some pleading on his part.

'Do you know if there are many guards?' enquired Nigel.

The crone regarded him suspiciously but said, 'with a festival like this on, I expect they will only have one or two.'

'Great!' said Nigel enthusiastically, and them quickly backtracked as the woman's probing glare returned. 'I mean, um, it's great our soldiers are so good you only need two for a job like that. Very efficient!' He turned on his heels and hobbled off as fast as he could.

His first destination, however, was not the prison but the now empty guardhouse at the gate. There may have been only two prison guards for him to overcome, but hand-to-hand combat was hardly an option. 'If you can't beat them,' thought Nigel, 'join them!'

He snuck in through the open door and into the now vacant chamber, whose usual occupants were enjoying Sydney's company. As he hoped, there was a whole array of spare armour. Still shunning the heavy breastplates, Nigel picked a heroic looking helmet with a clunky visor and an ostentatious red plume. He then headed off in the direction of the jail.

As the woman had said, there were no more than two guards outside. Nigel put on his helmet, pulled down the visor and marched up tentatively, glad that the headgear also covered the strain on his face as he agonisingly disguised his limp.

'Salutations comrades!' he cried, in his best Latin and lowest timbre. 'I've come to take away one of your prisoners.'

'_One_?' said the first guard, a fat chap with a bulbous nose who was greedily chomping a leg of mutton. 'We've only got one! Agroitus came and dragged off the other one earlier. I suppose he's probably dead by now…'

Nigel swallowed hard, trying not to fear the worst. 'Well, I've come for the other!' His confident tone wobbled slightly.

The guard scrutinised him. 'That's a commander's helmet, isn't it? Not that I can see your face, but I know all the garrison commanders. Do I know _you_?'

'Damn,' thought Nigel searching for a comeback in vain. 'I should have known that this fancy helmet would cause trouble.'

While the first guard stared, waiting for an answer, the second pointed to Nigel's well-strapped ankle. 'Did you pick that injury up in the line of duty, comrade?'

'Umm,' stammered Nigel, 'err, yes!' A timely idea hit him. 'I was rapidly promoted to the rank of commander this morning when I captured the 'warrior princess' herself! It was nasty, but I took her down in a one-on-one fight!' He pointed to his ankle. 'This?' he waved his hand dismissively. 'Nothing! You should see the poor, unfortunate lady!'

The first guard threw his finished leg of mutton over his shoulder and gulped. If this guy had really brought in the 'warrior princess' he must be some fighter! 'Well, you'd better take the prisoner, then.' He handed Nigel the keys. 'There you go, Commander.'

Nigel let out a long breath and hurried inside, thanking heaven that the thugs of the ancient world were every bit as gullible as those in modern times.

……………………

At the helmeted figure blundered through the prison door, Derek jumped to his feet, ready to fight the death if he had to. Then he observed the newcomer's limp and bandage. His grimly-set face broke into a broad grin.

'Aren't you a little short to be a Roman soldier?'

Nigel pulled off the helmet and pouted. 'No, Derek, I am not. And _you're _hardly six foot four, are you?'

Nigel was just too darn pleased with himself for having got past the guards, and about Derek being alive, to be annoyed. His frown melted into a beaming smile: 'aren't you pleased to see me?'

'I'm always pleased to see _you_, my friend!' said Derek, now standing at the front of the cell, gripping the bars. 'Need a hug?' His eyes glinted mischievously.

'Don't mock me, Derek,' retorted Nigel, although still in good temperament. 'Are _you_ alright?' He started to fumble with the key in the lock.

'I will be as soon as you get me out of here! Where's Sydney?'

'Right now?' The key clicked and the door opened. 'Dancing through the streets as a Vestal virgin on her way to confronting the consul at the forum, I hope. We've got to get out of here and help her!'

Derek was already out of the cage. Despite the hilarious image of Syd as chaste, girlish damsel that flashed through his mind, a look of serious consternation crossed the agent's face.

'What the heck is she doing there? The consul has a date with that bitch Veronica at the tower - any minute now!'

'What?' said Nigel, alarmed. 'How on earth does he know about _that_?'

'You can thank your friend Bluthus for it, Nigel. They headed off together not half an hour ago. _We've _got to get back to that tower immediately before Agroitus and Veronica become best buddies and you can kiss goodbye to the 21st century forever.'

Nigel was torn: 'What about Syd?'

'Sydney Fox can take care of herself. Come on!' He cracked his knuckles determinedly and charged out of the jail, taking out his frustration on two surprised and subsequently unconscious guards.

………………….

Sydney was beginning to wish that she exercised the muscles in her face as much as she worked out the rest of her highly toned body. As she danced towards the altar, the fixed grin beneath the thin veil was beginning to really ache!

Moreover, there appeared to be a hitch in the well-laid plan. Where the hell was the consul? The only people by the alter were a few bald-headed old men in togas and a frail looking woman with a tremulous smile. City dignitaries should _always_ be at ceremonies like this, but Agroitus was nowhere to be seen.

Syd noticed Girder's fists clench excitedly as they reached their destination: the woman really was a natural born warrior, and was just burning for a fight. Unfortunately, though, there was nobody currently present on whom either of them could unleash their pent-up energies.

Sydney tripped as daintily as possibly up to the altar, and laughed breezily as she waved her wreath in the air. 'Where's the consul?' she asked the veiled woman, failing miserably to sound appropriately demure. 'I was _so_ looking forward to meeting him!'

'My husband?' The woman shook her head hopelessly. 'He should be here, my dear, but he said he had some business at the Tour Magne. I knew he neglected his duties, but to neglect his religion… ah, I'm only his wife. Why should he listen to me?' she sighed. 'I despair!'

'The Tour Magne!' Sydney threw down her bouquet in frustration. The jerky movement caused her veil to slip and the consul's wife cried out in surprise.

'Aren't you the…warrior princess?' she gasped, loud enough for the crowd around to hear her and join in her recognition.

'Err, maybe,' said Syd: 'And, believe me, its _way_ easier than being a Vestal virgin! Now…rain-check!'

Sydney dived into the crowd and pushed her way through the excited spectators who, unsure quite what was going on, cheered their heroine anyway. A 'warrior princess' _and _a Vestal virgin in one gorgeous package! For the men in the crowd, it was as if somebody had invented Christmas.

Syd didn't care. Her showdown wasn't cancelled. It had merely shifted its location back to the first place she ever visited in Nevium. For better rather than worse, she sincerely hoped it would also be the last she would see of the Ancient city.

……………

**Thanks for reading. The next (and final?) part might be just a little longer than usual in arriving as I have loads of work on. On the other hand, reviews will encourage me to burn the midnight oil and post all the sooner…Katy x**


	17. to the tower

**Disclaimers: usual stuff.**

**Thanks for the reviews. I worked hard to get this done for you guys (okay, so I prefer writing this to my usual work, so it wasn't too arduous…)**

**This is _not_ the final chapter. I just had too much darn plot to sort out! But the next one will definitely be the last…**

……

Veronica Balwinchie was not a patient woman. She'd been waiting at the tower since sunrise and was somewhat annoyed when her supposed minions were not waiting eagerly for her, bearing the relic or begging for passage home. The seven days were not strictly up until around midday – the time she'd sent Sydney back the week before. Nevertheless, at a quarter to noon she decided that enough was enough. She ventured forth into the ancient world to take matters into her own hand.

However, it was not Sydney Fox that she spied puffing up through the ornamental gardens and fountains towards her. Instead she spotted the inexorable Professor Bluthus, who she had presumed was dead after he failed to meet his last appointment with her. He was accompanied by a tall, well-dressed Roman patrician who was bearing in his hands something that looked very much like her relic.

'Bluthus, you buffoon!' she shrieked. 'I thought you were…aaargh!'

Veronica reached for her magic necklace, but it was already too late to start her bewitching act. Soldiers poured out of the bushes on either side. One eagerly grabbed both her arms, while another yanked the jewel from around her neck.

'Good work, men!' cried Agroitus. He strode up to Veronica, with Hatshepsut's Eye in one hand, and took the necklace in the other. He then leaned close into the seething sorceress's face and asked: 'how do they work, my beauty?'

The words were lost on Veronica, who did not speak his language. Not being a very well brought up young lady, she spat in his face.

With the consul was still reeling, she took one look at Hatshepsut's Eye, which had been partially reassembled with fish glue and screamed. 'You think you can use that? There's a huge chunk missing! What careless fool broke it?'

Agroitus hadn't a clue what she was screeching about, and looked to Bluthus, nonplussed.

'It was Nigel Bailey,' muttered Bluthus to Veronica, who sneered in disgust. 'He, or Sydney Fox, have the missing piece.'

'Then you must get it off them!' shouted Veronica. 'And tell your nasty friends to get their hands off me or, I swear Bluthus, I'll roast you alive!'

'Hmmmmm. Easier said than done, I'm afraid.' Bluthus then addressed the increasingly impatient consul. 'You might as well take her away, sir,' he suggested. 'She's of no use until you get the shard.'

Agroitus agreed and ordered his men to drag away the raven-haired lovely, already musing about what kind of 'fun' he would have with her later.

'Set up the trap for the 'warrior princess' men,' he bellowed. Then he turned to Bluthus and said: 'you know what to do?'

The academic was now quivering to the extent that he could not talk, but he nodded so adamantly his double chin wobbled.

'Good!' said Agroitus, and headed with his men to hide.

…………………..

Derek was half way up the hill towards the fountains, when a small, apologetic voice called him from some way behind.

'Derek…I'm sorry. But can you wait a second?'

Derek did turned and, on the sight that greeted him, hurried back down the sloping lawns. Nigel appeared to have, literally, crumpled to the ground. He was breathing hard and clutching his middle, a pained expression on his face, which had turned several shaded paler than it had been in the jail.

Derek thought: 'Christ, Nigel, this is a _really_ bad time for a relapse!' but he didn't say it out loud. It was hardly his friends fault.

'Need some help?'

Nigel nodded dejectedly. 'God, Derek. I'm so sorry…I felt so much better today, but I guess I've kind of overdone it.'

Then he thought: 'last night was pretty strenuous too!' He kept that to himself.

Nigel squinted up at the special agent, who was standing against the now blazing sun. 'Maybe you should leave me? Go help Syd. I'll slow you down.'

'Nah. Come one. I just hope you don't need carrying…' Derek sniggered.

'No thank you!' retorted Nigel, trying to sound manful but not ungrateful. 'Just a hand, please?'

Derek helped Nigel to his feet, and supported him as best he could. Nigel hooked his arm around his companion's shoulders. They hastened, as fast as was now possible, up the hill.

'You know, Nigel,' said Derek. 'I never really thanked you for coming to rescue me.'

Nigel smile was brittle as he fought back the pain and weariness. 'Well, at least I've got one less favour to pay back now.'

'That's not the point, my friend. What you did was really brave.' Realising Nigel was still struggling, Derek reluctantly slackened the pace.

'Sorry,' whispered Nigel.

'No problem, buddy… I've got to admit, when you came through that prison door, I kind of assumed that Sydney Fox would be right behind you, high-kicking the hell out of the guards. But she wasn't. Did she even know you were there?'

'No,' panted Nigel, 'not really.'

Derek paused, allowing Nigel to recover again, and chuckled to himself. He was beginning to see why Professor Fox liked to have this guy around, beyond translations and decorative purposes. 'I underestimated you, Nigel,' he conceded. 'Now come on. We've got to rescue your damsel in distress!'

Nigel, still out of puff, nodded and continued his arduous journey.

………………..

Not surprisingly, Sydney reached the tower well before Derek and Nigel. Approaching from the other side of the gardens, she managed to ditch most of the tailing spectators – and the lumbering Girder – simply by running very fast and dodging through the trees and fountains. She knew that rumour was spreading like wildfire that there was action at the tower. 'Oh well', she thought. If the mob was on her side, it couldn't be a bad thing.

She was alone, though, when she approached the Tour Magne. Indeed, there was apparently nobody about. Every tingling sense in her body told her that something was up, and that she needn't to take the utmost care.

A familiar, rotund figure appeared in the open doorway on the first level of the tower, the floor above the shallow basement where she and Nigel had emerged last week.

'Bluthus!' snarled Sydney. 'Why am I not surprised to see you, you traitorous snake? Where's your new pal, Agroitus?'

Bluthus stared at her, both hands raised in a cautioning, and rather camp, fashion. 'He isn't here,' he entreated. 'You _must_ be careful Professor Fox!'

Sydney surveyed for signs of an ambush or a trap. She was well aware that Agroitus and his cronies were skulking somewhere nearby. She approached the steps with caution, but could see nothing obvious. Syd climbed up to the entrance.

At this point, Bluthus took a step back into the gloom inside, shaking his head tremulously and whispering: 'Follow me, Professor Fox. Come _this_ side. Don't step on the other.'

Sydney glared at him contemptuously. There was just no way this guy could be trusted! She stepped cautiously through the door exactly where he said she shouldn't.

For a second, nothing happened. But, just as Sydney started to congratulate her well-honed gut, there was a loud twang. Her whole world flipped as she was swept bodily from the floor. In a millisecond, she was suspended from the ceiling in a large net, her usually well-poised legs, arms and hair tangled messily and uncomfortably together.

'I _tried_ to warn you, Professor,' whined Bluthus.

Sydney cursed and scrambled for the knife she had deftly concealed in her Vestal virgin robes. It was to no avail. She couldn't reach it and, before she had time to shift, Agroitus and several of his men were through the door.

'Damn it, Sydney,' she thought, 'what a time to screw up!' Still, she greeted the new company with a gloating smile.

'Some men will go to any lengths to catch the woman of their dreams, won't they?'

'Don't make fun, my beauty,' leered Agroitus. 'Or you won't be hanging around here for long! Give me the shard.'

'I don't have it, Agroitus. 'Now why don't you let me down before my little army arrives and the party really starts? You might find _yourself _hanging around – by the neck from the nearest tree!'

Agroitus ignored her threat. His only concern was his relic. 'If _you_ don't have it, _who_ does?' He shoved his sneering face in hers, as she strained to tear the net. 'It can't be that grunting goon, I have him locked up…so _who_ is it? Tell me or you die now. Then I'll find whoever it is and they'll die more horribly than you can even imagine!'

Sydney's mouth was clamped tight and her expression stony, but a strange passion flashed in her eyes.

'Ah,' ruminated Agroitus. 'Thoughts speak louder than words…'

He recalled such a fiery expression from the 'warrior princesses' on the night of the orgy and when she 'performed' for him. What had been mentioned that had triggered it on those occasions? Suddenly it struck him.

'By the Gods, don't tell me that your pathetic little husband is still alive?'

Sydney snarled, giving no definite answer. Inside, she cursed herself. How could she let her feelings for Nigel betray him? Once again, she thought: 'what a time to screw things up!'

…………………….

By the time Nigel and Derek reached the top of the gardens, a small crowd of citizens had gathered outside the tower. Agroitus' guards were loitering about but none of Valerius' more friendly soldiers had yet cottoned on to the change of venue.

Derek sized things up while they were still a safe distance away, hiding behind some flowering rose bushes.

'I don't like the look of this,' he said seriously. 'You'd better stay here.'

Nigel, who had flopped onto the ground again, scowled. 'I don't appreciate being dumped in bushes every five minutes. Sydney developed this bad habit yesterday! Besides, do you have _any_ sort of plan?'

Derek smirked humourlessly. 'No, I don't have a plan yet. But I know that _I_ can help Syd and I'm not sure what you can do for her right now. More to the point, I don't want you getting hurt again.' Nigel opened his mouth to protest – hadn't this guy just said he'd underestimated him?

Derek raised a silencing hand: 'Stay!'

He sneaked out from behind the bushes, ignoring Nigel as he hissed: 'I'm not a bloody dog, you know!'

Derek was not a subtle guy. Nigel, peeping between the leaves, pushed his fingers through his hair in exasperation as his friend attempted to look nonchalant, sizing up the guards and sidling towards the tower. He might as well have been wearing a pair of 21st Century shades! Nigel wondered if Derek could ever be convincing 'under cover.'

Nigel laboriously dragged himself to his feet, scratching himself on the thorns, and was about to start after Derek when he saw Agroitus stride out of the tower. He collapsed forward into the evil, prickly bush, safe out of sight.

Derek, on the other hand, glanced around carelessly and whistled. He failed utterly to look inconspicuous.

'The grunting goon!' exclaimed Agroitus. 'Seize that man!'

Eight soldiers fell upon the agent. Derek lashed out viciously, cracking more than a couple of Roman noses, but he was quickly overwhelmed by their sheer numbers.

'Take him into the tower,' shouted Agroitus, 'and we'll see what persuasion is needed to make him and the wench talk!'

'Damn,' thought Nigel and, not for the first time, wondered: 'do I have to do everything myself?'

……………..

Agroitus held the point of the sword directly at Derek's heart, while four soldiers held the agent firmly.

'Tell me where your husband is, or I kill the new man now!'

'I'm telling you honestly Agroitus, I don't _know_ where he is.' Sydney, now bereft of her knife and still suspended in the net, was floundering for good ideas. She simpered, attempting seductiveness, and gestured at Derek with her head. 'If you let him live, maybe we can come to some agreement. But if you kill him, I promise you, you'll never find my husband and the relic will never be of any use.'

Agroitus shrugged. 'You are in no position to threaten me, my love. This is your last chance…'

He drew back the sword, ready to thrust. 'Tell me woman, where is your husband?'

'I'm here, Agroitus.' Everyone's eyes snapped to the doorway.

'Nigel!' Syd's voice was plaintive. Even she wondered what good her assistant could do at this desperate stage.

Nigel was wondering the same thing. He _did_ have a plan, albeit a rather shaky one. It was based around the fact that the shard of relic, now hidden around the back of his belt, was pretty sharp. He'd intended to chuck it to Syd: once she had a weapon in her hand, anything was possible. Okay, so things were looking bleak now he saw she was caught in a net! But, still, she could swipe about and cut herself free…

'Help!' panicked Nigel, as a guard seized both of his arms and held him fast. 'This is one _very_ shaky plan.'

'Where is the shard?' demanded Agroitus, the sword still pointed at Derek.

Nigel gulped, but did his best to sound dignified. 'If your man would be so kind as to give me my hands back, I'll give it to you.'

Agroitus nodded and the soldier released Nigel, who glanced at Sydney. Her countenance was blazing with frustration. He gestured wildly at her with his eyes, hoping she understood he was about to try something…anything!

As quick as he could, he pulled the shard from the back of his belt and started towards Sydney in the hope that a quick slash would set her free. He didn't get very far.

'Ow!'

Nigel's bad foot jarred against a raised stone on the floor. As Agroitus lunged to seize the now visible piece of relic, Nigel collapsed forward on top of him, grabbing at his ankle with his free hand. They both crashed onto the stones.

As Sydney looked on in horror, the guards swiftly pulled Nigel off the now prostrate Agroitus. Then everyone stopped dead.

The shard of Hatshepsut's Eye was embedded deep in Agroitus' heart. He retched once, blood gurgling in his mouth, then let out a long final breath. The consul of Nevium was no more.

………………..

Derek instantly took advantage of the flabbergasted guards. He yanked himself free, grabbed a sword.

'Don't _you_ break an ankle, Syd!' He swiped at the cord that held the net, and she dropped to the floor.

By the time she'd untangled herself, there was little fighting to do. The consul had ruled by fear and, now he was dead, the guards had no idea who to serve. What if killing these people displeased the next guy to seize power? It just wasn't worth it. They skulked away, hoping they'd still be paid.

Nigel, relinquished by the guards, staggered back against the wall. Although he edged as far from the corpse as possible, he was unable to rip his eyes from it. He couldn't quite believe what he'd done or even recall if he'd really intended to do it. It had all happened so fast…

He was so transfixed that he barely registered Sydney's approach.

'Nigel?' she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Are you okay?' She could feel him trembling.

Nigel nodded. 'I'm fine. How about you, Syd?'

She smiled. 'Never better, Nigel.'

Neither said anything more. The look they shared conveyed their emotions better than any much-used words.

……………….

When the 'warrior princess' and the one they knew as 'Maximus' appeared in front of the tower and announced that the consul was dead, a gigantic cheer was raised to the sunlit sky. Agroitus had _not_ been a popular leader!

Nevertheless, as Sydney smiled and waved at her fans, she could sense some discontent amongst the punters. These guys had wanted a show: chiefly, to see Syd 'kicking some consulate ass' while dressed as a Vestal virgin. As it was, nobody seemed to know quite who, or what, had killed the consul. There was a pronounced sense of anti-climax.

Valerius, who had just arrived with his men, pushed his way through the crowd and up onto the steps to congratulate Sydney. He hoped that the popular 'warrior princess' was going to announce him as their next leader. Syd received him warmly, but said nothing of the kind.

'How do you do things properly, around here?' she asked him. 'To be honest, I don't really like military coups. Where I come from, they mean ugly men with big guns get to boss everyone around.'

Valerius looked at her confoundedly, unsure what she was talking about.

Syd continued: 'Shouldn't I recommend you to the senate, or something, and then you can have a citizens' election? I think we're about, uh, nineteen centuries too early for universal suffrage but I guess Rome wasn't built in a day!'

Valarius, still confused, suggested she speak to the other members of the forum: the benign, and recently down-trodden, grey-haired elders whom she had seen at the altar devoted to Vesta.

'Great!' beamed Sydney. 'Now haven't you got a daughter to go find?'

The general's broad smile matched hers. 'You know, that _is_ what I came here for! I'll see you later.' He ordered his men to help Syd in any way she needed, and then pushed his way back through the crowd, anticipating a happy reunion.

Derek leaned in and whispered in Syd's ear. 'I think we'd better go see how Nigel is. He wasn't feeling too good.'

Sydney shot him a worried glance. 'Let's do that. I still don't know quite how he got here…did he come with you?'

'Well, yeah. Actually he rescued me from jail!'

'Well done, Nigel!' said Syd, in amused surprise.

'Oh, just one thing, Sydney,' added Derek as Syd turned to head back into the tower. 'You're the sexiest Vestal virgin I have ever seen!' He slapped her backside.

'I'm going to kill you, Derek Lloyd,' muttered Sydney through gritted teeth. 'And its going to be more painful than anything our late friend Agroitus could _ever_ imagine!'

……………..

Once he'd got over his initial trauma, Nigel felt a lot better than he had earlier. When Syd and Derek stepped back through the tower door, he was scrambling about in the dirt on the floor with none other than Girder.

He had been intrigued to find out what it was he'd tripped over before he dealt his fatal blow. It turned out to be a loose stone slab that had been dislodged, probably by the soldiers setting up the trap.

When Syd laid eyes on him, Nigel was charmingly requesting that Girder lever it up, intrigued to see what was underneath. Girder was obeying him eagerly, obviously with the hope of some reward.

'If you would be so kind as to just lift that up, Girder, then I'm sure we'll find time for 'cuddles' later…'

'Having fun, Nigel?' asked Syd.

Nigel, who hadn't noticed her enter, shuffled several inches back from his new friend and quickly withdrew his hand, which had been wandering near Girder's broad shoulders as he pondered an encouraging pat.

'Err, yes. I mean, no…um, well, actually, we're just carrying out a little archaeological dig.'

Nigel grimaced. It _was_ the truth. Besides, he'd needed to think of something to do to stop Girder's 'cuddles' from smothering him! All the same, Syd's expression was piercingly dubious.

'Tell me, Nigel. What _do_ you expect to find?'

'Well, do you remember when we first got here and I recalled a Nostradamus prophecy about this tower…which, incidentally, predates the rest of the Roman wall by some two centuries.' Nigel sounded as if he was back in the Ancient Studies office, enthusiastically explaining an interesting translation. 'Well, I remembered what the prophecy was about!'

He grinned at Syd proudly, but Derek's eyes glazed over. 'Cut to the chase, Bailey.'

'Okay, okay. Nostradamus claimed there was a pot of gold hidden in the bottom of the tower, and that somebody would find it. Acting on his words, the citizens tore apart all that remained of the pre-Roman tower in the 17th century, but no treasure was ever found. The story fascinated me…'

'Yeah,' interrupted Syd, recognising the tale. 'It interested me too.' She turned to Derek. 'Nigel and I have found Nostradamus' prophecies to be pretty accurate in the past!'

As she spoke, Girder, who had continued straining to lift the stone, gave a monumental grunt as it ripped away. Sydney crouched down, keen to see what lay beneath. Nigel reached in and pulled out a large pottery beaker, decorated with primitive geometrical designs.

'It's amazing,' gasped Sydney. 'It's the most perfect example of an iron age pot I've ever seen.'

Nigel nodded, clearly thrilled. There was a large stopper in the top which he held up to her. 'Open it, Syd.'

Overflowing with anticipation, Sydney pulled off the lid. The contents, which filled it to the brim, caught the light and glistened. They were a radiant gold.

'You've found Nostradamus' treasure, Nigel!' Sydney was as excited as a child.

Nigel nodded again, too thrilled for words.

'Nostradamus was right after all,' reflected Sydney. 'When he made the prediction, you weren't to be been born and hear the prophecy for several centuries, even though you had already found the pot! Even the greatest oracle probably couldn't quite get his head around that one!'

'Neither could the citizens of 17th century Nevium!' added Nigel.

'And neither can I!' interjected Derek. 'Look, guys. I'm sure this is going to look great on Nigel's academic record, but haven't we got some other unfinished business to deal with like, er, _going home_? Where's that bitch Veronica?'

'Oh, yes,' said Nigel distractedly. He pulled Veronica's necklace out from his belt. 'Girder took this off the, um, body for me.'

Syd raised her eyebrows. 'The Egyptian necklace! Agroitus must have found Veronica before us.' She looked at her assistant, increasingly impressed. 'How many other relics have you got hidden about your person, Nigel?'

'I haven't got the Eye, if that's what you're talking about.' He paused, glancing reluctantly at the consul's body. The jagged shard was no longer embedded in his chest. The rest of the repaired relic, which had laid by its side, had also vanished.

Nigel did a doubletake. 'Where is it? It was there last time I looked…and where's Bluthus?'

Derek frowned. 'I didn't see him leave.' His eyes locked with Sydney's and they spoke as one.

'Unfinished business!'

'Let's go get 'em,' said Syd. 'But first, Nevium needs to meet its hero. Come on Nigel!'

Nigel backed away from her across the floor, hugging his pot defensively in front of him.

'What are you talking about Syd?'

Sydney went over and hauled him up and then guided her assistant ahead of her onto the steps of the tower. Girder grunted again, this time with disappointment.

'Friends, Roman and Countrymen!' Sydney announced, cringing at her impetuous choice of words. She much preferred addressing a room full of students! 'This is the man that killed the consul in a deadly, one-on-one battle. Let me introduce my husband: your warrior prince!'

Nigel peered self-consciously at the cheering crowd. As the force of their adulation hit him, he blessed them with a genuinely delighted grin and a modest little wave.

'They'd rather I was Syd,' he mused to himself, regarding the slightly bemused faces of his admirers. 'But, if I _must_ be the hero of Nevium, I guess I can live with it!'

…………………………….

**Thanks for reading. Last chapter coming soon.**

**If anyone is vaguely interested, the Nostradamus prophecy about the treasure in the tourmagne is real. Nobody ever found the pot of gold…until Nigel of course! Oh, and in case you were wondering what on earth I was twittering on about, it was mentioned briefly in chapter 2. Yeah, that _was_ a long time ago…sorry!**


	18. home in one piece

**Disclaimers: as ever. **

**Note to all readers: Okay, you've got this far - have you enjoyed my little story? Would you like to see more historical adventure fic like this? Please, please, I don't care how long after I originally posted this it is: REVIEW ME, EMAIL ME, LET ME KNOW. I am very obliging to requests, and always listen to suggestions :)**

**On to the final chapter...**

…………………………..

'Sydney! I really, _really _want to go home now!'

After a few seconds of absorbing the cheers of the assembled masses, Nigel decided he'd had enough of being a conquering hero. Assassinating Roman consuls wasn't exactly what he'd got into history for! Besides, as much as everyone was pleased that the tyrant was dead, Nigel had a sneaky feeling that he, Syd and Derek had better get home before they altered the past in ways that had unforeseeable consequences. He didn't want to have too much Ancient Studies to relearn!

With a self-conscious farewell wave to his admirers, Nigel shuffled backwards into the tower. Unfortunately, waiting under the archway was an even more ardent fan – the lovely Girder. She enveloped Nigel tightly in her arms and imparted a truly smacking kiss on the lips.

This was just about enough to finish him off. Nigel's eyes rolled backwards and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. As she withdrew her plumptuous lips, he managed to whine: 'Syd! Please! Just get me out of here!'

'Okay, Nigel.' She wrested him from Girder's grip, fixing the love-struck giantess with a stern and particularly forbidding look. Girder scowled, not at all resigned to her loss.

Derek pushed his way back through the crowd towards them, brimming with impatience. 'What the hell are you two up to? There's no sign of Bluthus and Veronica nearby. We need to get moving.'

'Fine,' said Syd, and started down the steps with Nigel, who was still somewhat bewildered, in tow.

As they reached the bottom, a thought struck him. 'Oh…wait! We can't just leave Nostradamus's pot. Who's got it?'

'Derek hid it back under the floor,' said Syd. 'We'll come back for it later.'

'If you think its safe there,' said Nigel, dubiously. 'It would be lovely to take something back with us that's still in one piece…'

They both glanced back at the doorway of the tower. Girder was gazing wistfully after them.

'You know,' said Nigel, 'I think it would be nice to let Girder have the gold. She'd be a nice enough girl - if it wasn't for the, um, 'cuddles' - and the pot itself is the more interesting thing historically. Besides, she will need it more than us, with her whole village to rebuild.'

'That's a great idea, Nigel' agreed Syd, sounding surprised even though she had been about to suggest the same thing.

'Its not an entirely selfless one,' conceded Nigel, with another fearsome glance at the sizable peasant maiden. 'Bribery might be the only way I can get away from her in one piece!'

Sydney laughed, but Girder's yearning stare in the direction of her assistant suggested there was some foundation to his fears.

……………………………….

Although Derek hadn't caught up with him in the immediate environs of the tower, Bluthus hadn't got very far.

Terrified of being apprehended by either Sydney or the soldiers, he puffed down through the ornamental gardens, trotting as fast as he could behind bushes and statues to avoid being seen out in the open. He had little clue where he was going, but he barely cared. He had the remnants of Hapshepsut's Eye in his hot, sweaty hands. All he had to do was use them. Then he would know the best means by which to live peacefully and comfortably for the rest of his days, studying his beloved ancient world.

These blissful thoughts were abruptly shattered when he ditched behind a tastefully placed statue of a voluptuous nymph, and came face to face with no other than Veronica Balwinchie.

'Aaaargh!' cried Bluthus, nearly re-dropping the increasingly fragile relic.

'Bluthus!' shrieked Veronica. 'How dare you let your nasty friends lock me up. You're going to pay for this.' She spied the Eye in his paws. 'Give me that now!'

Bluthus suspected that resistance would result in much physical discomfort. He reluctantly handed it over.

'I was just bringing it to you,' he assured her. 'How did you get away from those, err, enemies of mine.'

Veronica's emerald eyes flashed with suspicion, but she answered nevertheless: 'some pathetic, weepy-eyed woman let me out. I hadn't a clue what she was wittering on about, but I think she felt sorry for me. Sorry! For me! The insult!'

Bluthus suspected it was a consul's wife and, very much wishing Veronica was still behind bars, also deeply regretted the poor downtrodden lady's bleeding heart.

'Where's the necklace?' demanded Veronica, a note of maniacal panic in her voice. 'I can't wreak havoc throughout time and history if I don't have that as well!'

'Umm…I think Sydney Fox and her assistant have it.'

Veronica stamped her foot in frustration. 'I should have known those two would be more trouble than they were worth. Ah well….' She fondled the Eye between her hands. 'We can simply use this to tell us the best thing to do.'

Bluthus' was a jellied blob of flabby bluster. This was the last thing he'd ever wanted to happen. But what could he do? As ever, he decided that he could do absolutely nothing.

He looked on in terrified curiosity as Veronica slotted the missing shard of relic – still stained with the blood of the consul – into the reassembled crystal.

Veronica held the shimmering artefact in her long, slender fingers, staring intently into its depths. As when he had witnessed Nigel use it, Bluthus saw nothing out of the ordinary.

There was a demonic flash in the woman's piercing eyes. 'I knew it!' she cried, her voice high and shrill. 'I knew it! I knew it! I must _kill _Sydney Fox!'

'That's a real shame,' came a calm voice from the other side of the statue.

It was Veronica's turn to nearly drop the relic, as Sydney stepped into her line of vision.

'You know, Veronica? I'm just not in the mood for being killed today. Besides, there are a couple of things I've been wanting to do for, oh, about a week…'

Even as Veronica pulled the sharp shard from the relic, her intentions murderous, Sydney's fist collided with her sharply angled jaw. The student flew back, limbs flailing, into a prickly bush.

The relic bounced onto the grass, more shards disintegrating away. What remained rolled into the arms of Bluthus.

'That's one thing I've been dying to do,' noted Sydney, with a satisfied nod. 'This is the other!'

'Ooof!'

In a second, Bluthus was sprawled in the bushes next door to Veronica, victim of a particularly heart-felt kick to the head.

'Impressive,' said Derek, observing with his arms folded. He turned to Nigel, standing next to him. 'She looks hot when she kicks ass as a Vestal virgin, huh?'

Nigel nodded. 'Not bad!'

Sydney gaped at them, only mildly irritated. 'Some help here, guys?'

Nigel picked up the bits of relic from the grass, as Bluthus groaned in the bushes. Veronica was still out for the count.

'What are we going to do with them?' asked Derek.

'Leave them here in the ancient world,' said Sydney. 'I don't think they can do too much damage without the relic.'

Nigel, crouching down and gathering all that was left of Hatshepsut's Eye, was uneasy. 'Are you sure about that? What if Veronica exploits Bluthus' historical knowledge to uncover some other powerful relic? We're taking a bit of risk leaving them _both_.'

Sydney pondered a moment. Nigel had a point.

'Why don't we use the Eye and see what it tells us to do?' suggested Nigel.

'Sounds like a good idea,' said Syd, kneeling down next to him. 'Do it then.'

'Me?'

'It worked for you before, didn't it? Come on…before our friend wakes up and gets any new ideas about reshaping the fabric of history.'

Nigel shrugged, and placed the relic in his lap as he had the last time. He gazed resolutely into it, entreating the crystal orb to tell him the best way forward – for everyone. Nothing happened. He lifted the relic into his hand and tried again, pursing his lips and concentrating very hard. Still nothing.

After a minute, he rested it back onto his knees. 'Its broken. It doesn't work.'

'Are you sure?' asked Syd, picking up the relic and examining it closely. 'It's certainly in a mess – there are bits missing - but it seemed to work for Veronica a minute ago.'

'Maybe it did,' replied Nigel uncertainly. 'Perhaps this last breakage finished it off….or perhaps she just saw what she wanted to see and it wasn't the relic at all.'

He looked up Sydney and sighed. 'No help there, then. What _is _the plan?'

…………………………

The farewells – of a sort – took place at the tower.

Girder was dispatched, reluctant to leave her beloved Nigel, but pleased enough with her newly found fortune. Bluthus, sheepish and sore-headed, wished his former star pupil good luck in the future with some genuine emotion. He then blundered back off down the hill into the ancient city of Nevium, never to be seen or heard of again.

Nigel watched him disappear behind the ornamental fountains, and felt a surprising pang of regret. Sydney heard him sigh and regarded him questioningly.

'You shouldn't think too badly of him, Syd,' responded Nigel. 'He might have had less backbone than the cowardly lion, but he set out to be a historian, not a hero. He was kind enough to me at Oxford… though I hate him now for what he said about you. I can't help wondering if some of the bad decisions he made - like, um, betraying us - I could have made myself if things had only been a little different. I'm hardly cut out for all this heroism stuff, either.'

Derek snorted. 'Are you going to beat some sense into him, or shall I?'

'Don't worry. I'll do it later!' replied Sydney, reflecting how Nigel had not put a foot wrong since they'd got there when it came to brave and difficult decisions. He rarely did.

They turned their attention to the pressing task in hand: getting home.

Veronica Balwinchie, with her hands tied and scowling lividly, was waiting to be transported back to the 21st Century. Derek hoped he could pin _something _on her, send her to jail and stop her causing any further mischief.

'How does it work, Veronica?' asked Sydney, brandishing the necklace.

'Its hardly rocket science!' huffed the captive. 'You're the amazing Sydney Fox. Work it out for yourself.' She glared at them, tight lipped.

'I doubt it _is _rocket science,' conceded Nigel. 'Or even post-structural neo-Marxist theory.' Derek and Sydney seemed rather nonplussed with this line of conjecture, so he got to the point. 'I should think you just _will _it to work, like the Eye. They both appear to be of a similar Egyptian origin.'

'Maybe,' replied Syd. She placed the jewel around Nigel's neck. 'You're the only one who made the Eye work before, err, you _modified _it, so you'd better try it first. Just make sure you go back the the 21st Century and that you take us all with you.'

'Don't worry,' said Nigel, ruefully. 'I'm heading straight back to a century where they sell very strong painkillers! Besides, I'd hardly leave _you _behind, would I Syd...and, um,' he motioned at Derek, 'I guess I still owe _him _a couple of favours. And, I suppose I'm kind of looking forward to seeing our favourite undergraduate here placed somewhere where she can't do any more damage!'

'We'll trust you then, Nigel,' smiled Sydney, while Veronica stared daggers at her former class teacher.

He was about to put his mind to the task, when a waif-like figure with long, caramel hair appeared in the doorway.

'Lydia!' Sydney greeted her young helper with a heart-felt smile. The girl returned it nervously.

'I wanted to thank you for helping me and my father…'

'You helped me Lydia. I owed you one!'

'Well, thank you anyway,' said Lydia. 'I am very happy, even if my father is marching for Britannia in the morning to suppress the rebellion.'

Nigel grimaced. 'Can you ask him to go easy on the natives? I could have some ancestors there…'

'I'm sure my father will be benevolent,' replied Lydia, rather confused. 'Those poor, primitive beings will never be a threat to the greatness of Rome.'

'Maybe not.' Nigel chuckled knowingly. 'But they'll have their Imperial moment, even if it won't be for over seventeen hundred years. Even the most downtrodden wretches can become monsters!'

Sydney raised he eyebrows. 'I hope _you're _not going to become a monster, Nigel.'

'Are you saying I'm downtrodden, Sydney?'

'Not at all,' said Sydney, mock defensively.

Nigel smiled wryly. 'I don't think there's much danger of _me _getting a Napoleon complex. I've got my special relationship to keep me in check, for better or worse…hadn't we better get home?'

'That's the first piece of sense I've heard in a while,' said Derek, entirely fed up with everything to do with history and the ancient world. 'Come on people. Let's go. Let's go!'

Sydney bid farewell to Lydia and asked her to make sure the big cats in the arena were well looked after. The girl slipped quietly away, still perplexed.

Nigel took a deep breath.

'Now concentrate really hard,' said Syd, click your heels together and just think 'there's no place like home.'

'Okay,' affirmed Nigel. 'But _no _Dorothy jokes!'

'It hadn't even crossed my mind,' lied Derek. Syd nodded with equal insincerity.

The inside of the tower spun and melted into a thousand colours. When reality swirled back around them, they were in room 207 of Trinity University.

………………………….

_Epilogue_

When Nigel returned to the Ancient Studies office a week later, Karen's pretty blue eyes were wide with concern.

'Nigel! Sydney said you wouldn't be back in work until tomorrow at the earliest. You're _supposed _to be resting.'

'I got a bit bored…and I missed the company!' Nigel attempted appeasing her with a winning smile as he shuffled through a pile of unopened post on his desk. 'Besides, I've got a class to teach today. I can't be shirking that, can I?'

'But Sydney's going to take it. Really, you should go home!'

Nigel politely ignored her. 'Is Syd in her office?'

Karen nodded. 'Yeah. She's going to send you packing, you know?'

'We'll see,' said Nigel with a wink.

Karen's eyes widened again, this time suspiciously. What was _that _supposed to mean?

……………………………..

Nigel popped his head around the door.

'Morning, Syd.'

'Nigel!' Syd jumped up from her seat. 'You're supposed to be at home!' She dashed over, pulled him in and shut the door behind him. 'You're supposed to be at _my_ home!' she whispered.

'Yes, but I feel fine now.' He softened his voice as well. 'Seeing you in the mornings and evenings has been lovely…but I like to be with you in the day as well. I miss you.'

Sydney smiled knowingly, and pulled down the blinds.

'I miss you too, Nigel.' She pressed her lips to his and enjoyed his warm caress.

They gazed at each other a minute, unsure what to say next. In the Ancient Studies office, this felt very strange.

Sydney broke the silence. 'Are you sure you feel comfortable about keeping things quiet? I don't want you to think I'm ashamed of our relationship or anything. I'll tell the whole world if that's what you want. Now, hadn't you better take it easy?'

Nigel shrugged, allowing her to guide him across the room towards the chair. 'I thought we decided we don't want to change things too much. It will be just the same as before…apart from I get to do this from time to time.'

He turned and looped his arm around her waist, pulling her in for another lingering, kiss.

As he finally broke away, Nigel added. 'Which, of course, is a nice thing to be able to do.'

Sydney blessed him with her warmest smile and gently pushed him down onto the chair. 'And you get to know just how much I adore you, Nigel. Isn't that nice as well?'

Nigel looked up at her, a studied look on his face, pretending this was a contention that needed thought. 'I guess it is.' A smile broke out that more than matched hers.

'It's a tad mean not telling Karen, I suppose,' mused Nigel. Never having quite removed his hand from around her waist, he was enjoying the feel of Syd's curves as his fingers drifted down her hip. 'We'd better do that soon…just as soon as _we've _got used to it.' He growled playfully. 'Then I'll never have to keep my hands off you.'

Sydney slapped his wrist. 'You'll keep your paws off when I say so, Nigel Bailey – I'm still the boss in working hours! Talking of which', she added, 'I hope you're not thinking of teaching your class today.'

'Of course I am,' he retorted, pouting at the untimely cessation of his fun. 'What did you think I came in for? I know how irate you get if I don't teach the full session!'

Sydney frowned, perched on the table. 'I'm not exactly harsh on you, Nigel. Besides, you know those guys in the university finance office are spreading rumours about how I pounded my TA to within an inch of his life for not teaching the full hour of 'Introduction to Ancient Europe'. I hardly want to be seen cracking the whip again so soon, do I?

Nigel cringed apologetically. 'Sorry. I thought Derek pulled a few strings to make sure the police never asked awkward questions?'

'Its not your fault, Nigel…and, yeah, Derek did his best, but it was inevitable people would talk when they kept you in hospital for two days…I mean, nobody _really _bought the story about you being mugged. It's a good job everyone else at the university don't have it in for me as much as the finance guys!'

She shushed her voice to a whisper again. 'I think poor Karen thinks your injuries had something to do with Derek and a mission he forced you to go on.'

'Oh dear,' said Nigel. 'We'd better do something about that before he pops into say hello next. Karen can be a very determined lady!'

'I agree,' said Syd. 'I'll have to work on it before Derek Lloyd gets a verbal battering that is undeserved - for a change. Oh, by the way, this arrived for you.'

Sydney picked up an official looking, brown envelope. 'I was going to give it to you tonight. It's from the _International Journal of Ancient Studies_. I didn't know you'd submitted anything to them yet, Nigel. They're the best in the field, you know.'

'I know,' said Nigel, ripping apart the envelope in a failing attempt to conceal his excitement. 'I was bored in hospital, so I cobbled together a proposal for a paper on the social history of Southern Gaulle in Roman times. I didn't tell you as I wasn't expecting to hear back for months…if ever!'

Sydney ran around, now as intrigued as he was. She read the letter over his shoulder, on which she placed an affectionate hand. Nigel was shaking with anticipation.

'My God! Nigel!' gasped Syd, as she registered the first few lines. 'They don't just want a paper…they want a book and a symposium! They say your theories could revolutionise the social history of the Ancient World!'

Nigel, too thrilled for words, swivelled around and pulled her into a breathless kiss. As he edged away, however, she detected a flash of concern.

'Its going to be a nightmare to footnote, Syd!' he spluttered. 'I mean, I now know what it was _really _like, right down to the blood and sand…but how am I going to _prove _it all? I can hardly tell them I've been there!'

'Ah, Nigel,' smiled Sydney. 'You're a brilliant researcher. If anyone can find the evidence, you can…at least now you know what you're looking for.'

'I suppose,' said Nigel doubtfully, the momentous nature of the task before him slowly dawning.

Sydney never felt so proud of her own, numerous achievements as she felt at that moment for Nigel. 'I can't believe it!' she gushed. 'Well, actually, I can! If I heard anyone was going to have a book out before they'd even completed their PhD, it would be you, Nigel. You're very talented.'

Nigel blushed modestly, and gladly pointed out: 'Didn't you have two books out before you got _your _doctorate, Syd?'

'Well, perhaps,' she admitted. 'But you've still got time for another one. At this rate they're going to make _you _the professor!'

'Don't be silly, Syd,' said Nigel. 'But if they do….'

'If they do?' Sydney raised her eyebrows. What was he driving at?

'If they do,' continued Nigel with a cheeky grin, 'you can be my assistant as long as you want to be. I can't think of anyone better. And then I can kiss you all day!'

Sydney's jaw dropped in mock horror as he headed for the door. 'Maybe you _are _turning into a monster, Nigel!'

'Maybe…' Nigel shut the door and headed off to teach his 'Introduction to Ancient Europe' class, ready for anything.

_The End _

**Ah – it's all over! Thank you so much to _everyone _who had stuck with me all this way to the bitter end. **

**I'VE SAID IT BEFORE, AND I'LL SAID IT AGAIN - PLEASE, PLEASE, KIND READER, REVIEW ME!!!! **

**Katy xxxx**


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